


Lost Past and Hidden Destiny

by Badpenny



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Drama & Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Loss, Memory Loss, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 141,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badpenny/pseuds/Badpenny
Summary: Bow has been fighting to survive day by day in the cruel world of Middle Earth, not knowing that up until now she had been searching for something: a past life. Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, is also searching for something: a Guide- or so he thinks.Originally post on FF.





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

In the mild heat of the midday the sun that seeped through the dense leaves of the forest canopy above Thorin closed his eyes and raised his face to the warmth of the sun's rays. He let the tension and strain of the past years slid from his features until his face was calm. His shoulders lowered and his muscles relaxed as if in sleep.

A moment of solace; of peace; of warmth and calm that had long been out of his grasp. He enjoyed his minute of silence. His mind clear within rhythmic birdsong above and the humming crickets below.

In his momentarily lapse of concentration, his pony slowed to a stop, Its head bent and nibbling at the sweet grasses that grew at the side of the road. Thorin frowned at the stubborn animal before tightening the reins and kicking viciously until the road and the wind streamed past in a blur.

His hair whipped wildly and branches clawed at his body, trying to drag him to the ground. But he never let his speed slow. His own breath ripped out of him, his horse panted and slobbered at the mouth but his pace never faltered.

He had waited too long in the dark caverns of the Blue Mountains; too long had he relied on other men's gold, too long had his home been out of his hands. The lonely mountain belonged to the line of Durin. And it soon would again.

Thorin Oakenshield could almost taste the blood of Smaug on his lips, and it was sweet.  
As his poor horse tired, Thorin pitifully slowed his pace to a walk. For days now he had travelled on the dusty roads of Middle Earth, he would not allow himself rest when salvation was so close. So close and yet still so far, it was as if his saviour danced on the edge of his vision but always just out of reach.

He travelled to the Shire and to his rescue.

The darkening of the sky did not alter the warmth evening or the playful song of the wind through the tall elm trees. However, the moment Thorin had planned to sit a while, the steely squeal of a goblin racked through the wood.

Thorin's head snapped in its direction and his heels stabbed into the horse, spurring the exhausted animal towards the noise.

Fear gripped his heart as his chest rose and fell rapidly. Bag End was a rabbit burrow, a dead end, and trap. If The Company was attacked in there, they would be fish in a barrel, they would be slaughtered.

– Kili and Fili would be … - The consequences of an Orc attack now would be disastrous for the mission, Thorin had to think practically for a moment, had to think without emotion sclouding his mind and fear gripping his body. He'd had decades worth of practice, he made himself cold and stoic, like his father and his father before him: Thorin let his emotions be dragged away by the gusting wind and his pressed his horse harder.

Rounding the corner Thorin stopped the panting horse, pulling it in tight circle, waiting a heartbeat for another noise - There!- in a small clearing Thorin could see the flickering of firelight and the shadows of two figures all stood.

Dismounting and safely lashing the horse up, he crouched in the leafy darkness of a bush, trying to listen to the Orcs against the sound of his own beating heart .

"The little Bitch! We've spent so long you. And I'll tell you this, your death is not to be quick. It's gonna be long and painful and in the end your gonna wish it had been quick!" one of the Orcs screamed, holding up {what Thorin presumed was} an unflinching young She –Dwarf by the collar of her coat. "I'm gonna cut you up open and fry yer guts girly!" He cackled manically. Thorin saw the glint of madness reflected under fire light in the Orc's eye.

"You can try but I'm still going to cut your other ear off. I need the pair as trophies." The She- Dwarf smiled sweetly, staring stubbornly at the huge Orc that roughly held her.

When Thorin looked closer at the Orc, he saw the gaping hole crusted with blood where his ear should have been. The She-Dwarf's mouth was just as smeared with black blood; her teeth too had a bloody glint to them. She had ripped an Orc's ear off with her teeth.

Thorin had to admit, he liked her style.

Suddenly the sound of crushing foliage came from behind him. Thorin flattened his body into the side of the tree trunk. Another massive Orc, bigger than the other two, emerged in the clearing just by Thorin's hiding spot.

"There's no sign of Knurl. Where is he, woman!" the massive Orc knocked the She-Dwarf to the dirt, Thorin heard her gasp in pain as the Orc pressed his huge foot into her chest and leaned down to leer into her face.

"Idiot! How can I tell you if I can't breathe?" She spat the word with as much gall as her cracking ribs could manage.

The Orcs all drew their daggers at the nod of the big Orc and he released his foot . "No funny business Dwarf!" she stumbled backwards, scrambling in the dirt. Hands grasping for the leather cord that had been kicked into the under growth in the confusion .

Thorin started to move before even he knew what he was doing.

"I said no funny stuff!" the Orc roared raising his immense axe over his head ready to cleave the dwarf in two. At the same moment, Thorin launched himself into the air , sword in both hands above his head, slicing the weapon out of the Orc's hands.

Three things all happened at once. The Orc screeched at the bloody stump that once had a hand, turned and rushed at Thorin with a flaming log, grasped from the fire in his other hand. The two other Orcs now turned and circled Thorin from the back , growling menacingly. He was surrounded.

There was a soft click and metallic whirling and the Orcs looked around them in dumb annoyance at the new noise. Suddenly air whooshed past Thorin's face and he was barrelled over by a blur .

The She-dwarf dragged him heavily to the dirt, teeth bared in a snarl. Thorin grasped her wrists in defence, trying to push her away from his body, but she grabbed his coat and flung his body over hers, letting her body crash into his yet again.

The earth crashed about Thorin's ears, and his mouth and throat were raw with dust and dirt, the dead weight of the other dwarf made his intake of breathe painfully sharp . The She-Dwarf let out a ragged sigh of exertion and rolled of Thorin's battered body. Immediately he sprung up on his feet.

"What in Durin's name do you think …!" the angry tide of words died in his throat when he saw the twitching bodies of the Orc's laying tangled on the floor. Their bodies mangled by sharp wooden stakes which impaled all their torso's and limbs. The largest had been impaled right throw the eye socket. Blood ran freely down its face, tongue lolling in its shapeless mouth and muscles in its face twitched.

The She- Dwarf snorted at Thorin's astonished stare and tried to snatch one of the Orc's swords of the ground but she let out a hiss of pain and a potent curse. Her knees buckled and her fist bunched into the fabric at her collar bone. Thorin strode to her side, disregarding her silence and pulled her dirty coat away from the bloody wound.

"Get the hell away from me!" The women ducked away from his hands, and with an angry howl, ripped the wooden spike that impaled her flesh from her shoulder. The women's face was a steely, but her lips paled and her jaw was tight, restraining a grimace of pain. Thorin's face remained blank. He recognised such anger but he'd never seen such hate that he saw in this women's' eyes.

"I'm only trying to help, woman! What do you think you were playing at anyway? They were Orcs. You could have been killed!" he growled with dangerous exasperation, kicking one of the Orc's in the head in anger.

She whipped round to face him, eyes wild with stubborn rage "I didn't need your help! And actually, I just saved your life. So next time you decide to help, help someone else!"

The fire was between them and it danced in the white of the women's eyes. She was struggling not to pant in pain, determined to keep composure until this stranger, this Dwarf had left!

"Saved my life, I don't see how. He would have sliced you into strips!" Thorin spat, kicking the Orc with the severed hand in the head again, trying to vent his anger but failing bitterly.

"Men!" She bellowed in frustration, wiping her dark fringe from her eyes and leaving a smug of blood on her brow. "You don't use your eyes, look closer Dwarf! You walked into a boar pit!" Her body was shaking in frustration. "Do you know how..."

"A boar pit?" Thorin interrupted, a confused wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows, lessening the harshness of his features and making him seem almost amused.

The women seemed to sag under the pain and finally gave up, giving in to his onslaught of questions.

"Yes! A boar pit, have you ever hunted a boar before?" she asked irately, then waited impatiently for a response. Thorin nodded silently. "You make a trap and plant wooden spikes in the ground and wait till the boar comes." She made a gesture around the camp "pit." Then pointed her chin towards a high branch in the closest tree .

"Stakes." Thorin mumbled under his breath. Fixed to a tree branch were a dozen crossbows, presumably rigged by the She-Dwarf, with what looked like a linking mechanism to connect the triggers together.

"But surely with no one to aim you'd get hit?" Thorin's military mind was a whirl of ideas and possibilities of how to apply this ingenious technique. Still looking at the cog and spring mechanism, he heard her reply behind him.

"I just make sure all the bows are aimed at things taller than me." A wondrous smile briefly curled his lips up but passed quickly, returning to his cold harsh mask as he turned back towards the women.

The both met eyes briefly, for no more than a heartbeat.

"You saved my life, I thank you." Thorin hated the pain in his belly that he got. He was in debt to this stubborn She-Witch. He was at someone's mercy yet again. He had suffered at the hands of others mercy for years, humiliated and shamed, it grated against every sensibility he had. He was the beggar king, cursed to work for a pittance and have his people treated like the lowest of the low. His people; beggars for a beggar king.

The women snorted in derision and looked away into the tree tops. "I need no thanks. We are even. Let that be the end of it." Her voice had suddenly grown tired and thin, bemused even. Actually her entire body seemed to slacken and sag, using the tree behind her keeping her from falling. Though Thorin couldn't see her properly in the dim shadow of the tree, the dark haired women seemed to have a greyish whiteness to her pale skin and the sheen of sweat on her brow and neck.

Pushing heavily away from the tree, she went to the fire and dropped down with a loud thump, poking the embers with a stick from the floor. In the better light, Thorin could see the She- Dwarf more clearly. Unlike most Dwarfs, she had no beard or facial hair that he could see; she was petite in frame, but appeared hard and stubborn. Her features were plain and small apart from the black Orc blood smeared around her mouth and chin like a grotesque smile. He supposed she had long dark hair, but couldn't see because it was tucked under the collar of her jerkin. She was certainly smaller than he was, but he wasn't actually certain she was a Dwarf.

"Which Clan do you belong to?" he questioned cautiously, slowly walking to her side, careful not to appear threatening: this woman was obviously untrusting of strangers. From within his doublet, he extracted a hipflask and, without so much as glancing at her looking at her, offered her a drink.

Although she accepted the flask, she didn't respond to his question. He stood, for a moment, watching her suspiciously. Finally, he decided to get his horse that was just tied outside the camp. However he watched her carefully; using the fall of his long black braided hair as camouflage against his piercing stare . When he returned she appeared to have not moved, so he rested on his haunches opposite her.

"Does the Boar trap usually work?" he questioned, intrigued by it. Never had he seen such an risky tactic and for one to go against so many Orcs… He didn't know if it was bravery or a death wish!

"For the most part, it does. I have successfully used it against more," she shrugged. She wasn't boasting, just merely stating a fact. She continued to talk, though still wouldn't look at the King Dwarf directly. "First, choose your targets. A scouting party, something like that. Then you take one; lure the rest in with a trial you've made. Set the trap and kill all the Bastards in one go." She paused and took another warm shot of liquor. "This time was different. "

Thorin leaned his body forward more, eyebrows raised slightly. "Different how?"

"They'd been looking for me." She stared blankly into the dying embers of the fire.

Suddenly and without warning she leapt to her feet and started filling an old leather duffle bag that had been shoved under a bush with items that were around the camp.

The women's erratic behaviour startled Thorin, who also sprang to his feet, impatiently stomping around the fire towards her. "What the hell are you doing now?"

"What does it look like; I'm going to go find them of course." She shot him a jeering look and continued packing.

"Find them… you mean the Orcs tracking you?" Thorin was astounded at this women , madness; audacity ? She's insane or has some serious balls. Probably a bit of both .

She slung the now full duffle bag on her shoulder and started padding fabric on the inside of her jerkin against her shoulder wound. Turning on her heel she glared challengingly up at him, dead in the eye.

"Okay, I'm going to make this really easy for you to understand." Her tone purposefully slowed, demeaning, her hands gestured exasperatedly with every word she said. And with every word she uttered, Thorin clenched his fists tighter and ground his teeth harder.

"I'm going to kill whatever wants kill me first. Clear?" She shot him a patronising smile which soon faded into a self satisfied smirk in the heat of Thorin anger.

"Do you know who you are talking to women?" a growl that was barely understandable but to Thorin's surprise, the women responded in kind.

"I neither know nor care. Now out of my way lest I have to kill you." Her voice as cold as her eyes, dead and emotionless, any other man would have fled but Thorin wasn't any other man.

"You would really threaten a King? Try and kill me and I shall give you a quick death." His chest rose and fell in anger so close to her that his powerful exhale blew strands of wispy hair away from her face. Next to the close heat of the fire his face was half hidden in flickering shadow but fire danced in his pale irises dangerously. Where Fury openly showed on his face, hers was cold and impassive.

"I have neither King nor kin, kill me if you wish. But I will fight you till my last breathe leaves my body." She retorted coldly through clenched teeth, a muscle in her jaw ticked and Thorin saw she rested her hand on her hilt of a knife which rested on her hip.

Not many people could return what Kili and Fili had so fondly named "The Death Stare", but this woman could. Like an ancient tree in a gale, she straightened her spine and stared right back, challenging him to make a move . Stubborn and unyielding, Thorin gave the woman credit. She had courage.

Pale green against lurid blue, their eyes clashed in a silent battle of wills. She was suddenly overcome with unease. She had a sudden realisation just how big this dwarf was compared to her. Maybe twice as broad and a head taller. He was a powerfully built man. It took her a moment but she realised that for the first time in years she was scared.

She controlled all the emotions she felt; only allowing the ones which she needed to survive to slip through the gaps. Hunger was necessary. Anger was needed for bloodlust, but fear? She hadn't felt fear since the raid and Lake Town and the gods and the chanting and the fire and the screaming and out of the smoke of memory of Smike appeared.

Years of control kept her face impassive but Thorin watched her eyes. A flash of fear leapt across her face but as quick as it had flared, it disappeared.

But Thorin hadn't missed it. He had noticed the brief fear of someone much younger than the fierce woman in front of him. A fear of a memory. He didn't know why, but his anger subsided and he took a step back. He let the pressure of rage slide from his features, taking a step back, he let his pulse begin to slow.

"You have fire little one. What is your name?" Thorin said mildly, looking down at his hands, calloused and muddy from travelling and then wiped them on his doublet.

She twisted her head as if getting an ache out her neck and glanced at her boots.

"Bow." She said almost too quiet for him to here. Thorin smiled, firelight glimmered in his bright eyes.

When this man smiles, he looks almost handsome-Bow thought dryly.

"Well then Bow," Thorin shoved his hand out, indicating that they should depart as friends with a handshake. Bow stepped forward, her small weathered hand against Thorin large calloused one.

"I'm sorry we came to blows," Thorin said calmly taking Bows hand he pressed his lips against her knuckles in a surprisingly gentle manner. The softness of lips and the yielding coarseness of a beard brushed against her skin just enough to make her face rush with heat.

"And I'm also sorry about doing this." Before she could utter a cry, Thorin had slammed the other hand into the back of her neck. Bow's body crumpled instantly against his. She was smaller and relatively light, so it was easy for him to sweep her unconscious body into his arms and position her in the saddle in front of him.

Holding her body against his chest, he spurred the horse on. The pace quick but careful. It was just enough for the breeze to blow wisps of Bows brunette hair against his flesh.

The night was now dark and the heat of the day had disappeared. Thorin Oakenshield continued the short distance to Bag End and to The Company.


	2. Bilbo Baggins, The Company and cake

Bilbo Baggins, The Company and cake.

 

Pain was normal and Bow was used to it by now. In her life she was always getting into scrapes of some kind. She could still feel the ghosting pain in her shoulder. Like any stab or arrow wound it would heal in time. However the pain that was creeping down her spine and spreading along her shoulder blades was something she'd never experienced before.

It was white and hot and burned in the muscle with irritation. Clenching her teeth to keep from groaning she tried to prop her body against the wall behind her.

When Bow had first awoken she'd been aware of distant voices that escalated into a sudden racket then fell away again into a low murmur. Her mouth dry from a cotton gag she'd scratched at her face with rope that bound her hands and flailed her bound ankles to little affect. Snorting with frustration she then tried to pull the gag away by rubbing the fabric against her shoulder.

Heat shot along her shoulders with savage abandon, throwing her head back in the dim darkness, she struggled to hold back tears, with little affect as a new wave of blinding sting stabbed its way along her neck.

If she let out a sob she didn't hear it. All she was aware of was the absorbing pain and the ever encroaching closeness of the darkness around her. Struggling to steady her breathing she centred herself against the coolness of the wooden wall to her back. Her mind clinging to its stability like a raft caught in a storm.

Abruptly many deep resounding footsteps stamped towards her dungeon and the door thrown open. Bow flinched against the light, pushing her back further against the wood and raising her chin defiantly.

Silhouetted against the light four figures stood tall all looking down at her.

"Ah Curse Aule Thorin, she's only a wee lass." A smallish figure with tall pointed hair spoke with a thick accent.

"Aye she may look it but she took out three fully grown Orcs. She's' not human Balin ." The tallest Dwarf spoke in a deep quiet tone that Bow recognised. It was the black haired dwarf from the forest.

"Where's her beard?" A outline with wispy fly away hair leaned close to another's ear and whispered in a not so hushed tone.

"I thought you said she wrestled you to the ground?" Snort of laughter came from this dwarf. Who was smaller dwarf and stocky , Bow could see a thick mane of hair around his head.

"She threw herself on me." The broadest silhouette barked in reply which caused an eruption of giggles from the stocky dwarf.

From out of the blinding light the smallest Dwarf came towards and rested on his haunches in front of her. On closer inspection Bow could see he was young. Thick stubble grew around his mouth and chin, It was dark and matched to dark shaggy hair that was braided behind his head.

"Where's your beard?" He asked speaking deliberately and overly loud. As if he was asking foreigner directions.

Idiot. Bow thought warily.

"Does she talk?" The young dwarf asked turning back to his peers.

"Of course she talks. It's getting her to shut up that's the problem." The dwarf with the dark beard said raising an amused eyebrow. Bow tried to shoot him a glare but flinched as pain jabbed her neck.

Looking back at her expectantly the young dwarf waited.

Bow growled in frustration and finally, clenching her jaw against the pain in her neck, pushed her body more upright against the wall. And meeting his dark hazel eyes nodded her chin , indicating to the gag.

"Oh ..." he said, with final realisation dawning. Using coarse dirty fingers to pull the gag away from her mouth.

Licking the dryness of her mouth and lips she coughed and replied in a hoarse voice. "Hands, please?" Using her most pleading eyes she gestured towards her bound wrists. With a sweet little smile on the naive dwarf's lips, he took a knife from to the rope.

The dark one barked a harsh command "Kili no!" and started to rush forward.

"My thanks ,friend." And smiling sweetly she sank her teeth into his hand. He cursed in surprise and let the knife fall. Bow quickly, forgetting the pain for a moment, grabbed the dwarf's collar and launched him into the wall. The stocky dwarf ran forward to the others aid so Bow landed on strong kick between his legs. Turning purple, he fell into the foetal position.

Her ankles now free she shouldered the dark dwarf out the way with as much force as she muster. Even though her shoulders screamed in protest. He would have be able to hold her if he hadn't have stripped backward over the dwarf on the floor. Who was now sobbing dryly, clutching his crotch for dear life.

Bow sprinted down the gleaming polish wood hallway towards an ornate circular cherry door.

"Dwalin!" a voice raged behind her. Snapping her head back she saw the dark dwarf and the dwarf with the crazy hair giving chase. Suddenly Bow's face was flattened against a furry mass. A strong arm grabbed a handful of hair and twisted her wrist behind her back with horrifying ease.

Bow kicked and tried to throw her body free but the gruff man merely held her wrist tighter and twisted her hair, pulling her head up to look at him.

Wiry hairs scraped her neck as the massive bald dwarf peered down at her. "It won't do you any good to struggle Lass. So just keep still, you'll only be hurting yourself if you don't." His voice was deep and unsettling to the ears. It made Bows flesh crawl to be in his grasp. Cold sweat began to form on her skin

"Careful Dwalin, she bites!" The young one was standing in line with the others that had appeared, rubbing the fingers of his hand and a scowl ruining pretty features.

The dark one came forward, arms crossed over his broad chest. "We won't hurt you, we just need to talk." His calm voice only maddened Bow further.

"Really? And what do you define as not hurting. I do not take kindly to being kidnapped!" She let the venom of her words out.

Her head was yanked to the side by the hand in her hair. Her scalp and shoulders protested in anguish, Bow had to suppress a shiver of pain. " Watch your words miss, do you have any idea your talking to? This is our King."

"He's not my King!" Seething in fury mixed with pain she spat the words with such gall the smallest figure at the corner of her eye actually recoiled in alarm.

" Dwalin, son of Fundin release that She-Dwarf at once!" Booming and commanding the voice seemed to echo through the air and into Bows very bones. Lights flickered and the atmosphere in the little hallway seemed to swirl with magical tension .

The wooden floor came to meet Bow as she landed on her knees and forearms. She pressed her sweating brow against the wood a moment to compose her breathing and fortify her against the pain of her neck. Her hands pushed against her knees as she rose, straightening her spine defiantly towards the giant of a man who now stood in front of her.

Dressed head to foot in grey robes and topped with a pointed grey hat, he bowed his head down towards her. "My apologies child . It seems these dwarves have lost their manners along with their wits." The Grey man shot a pointed look at the bald dwarf behind him, then glanced back to her with a smile.

"They'll lose their manhood's if they're not careful." Bow said dryly keeping her face impassive. The Grey wizard threw his head back and howled with laughter, his beard and belly shaking under the force of his amusement.

The younger dwarves in the company visibly paled.

"Child , my name is Gandalf," he smiled warmly down at Bow and extend his arm to the smallest figure in the corner. "And this terrified Hobbit is Bilbo Baggins."

The Hobbit was indeed terrified. His light brown curls shivered under Bows amused stare. Bilbo was different from the other Dwarves. His feet were large and covered with curly hair. A button nose, cherry pink cheeks and shiny black eyes gave him a merry demeanour which Bow almost instantly warmed to.

Gandalf pushed the Hobbit forward with a strong shove to the back. Looking slightly up at Bow he let out a terrified squeak inclined his head in a low bow.

Swallowing her own discomfort, Bow placed one hand behind her back and the other over her chest, dipping her head down although her neck hummed in pain. It was a poor attempt to mimic Bilbo's bow.

Kili or Fili, she wasn't sure which, snorted in laughter. The dark haired King next to them looked away in unease.

"You wanted to talk. We have. Now goodnight Dwarves ." She walked quickly to the door and reached for the handle.

"Bow wait," The King's deep voice commanded. Irritation twisted Bows features. "Do not tell me what to do!" annoyance flaring in anger. Bow's fiery stare next his eyes but they did not challenge. Bow could have sworn that his eyes had a glint of sadness.

On her right Dwalin turned his body away, mumbling profanity under his breath. The others look at the King with a nervous eyes .

Suddenly as her body was turning to the door the Hobbit sprung forward closing the door with a shove from his shoulder. " Bow, they just want information. Then I promise you can leave!" His eyes were shining through the hair that had fallen over his face. For someone so small the force of his sincerity warmed her. His rash show of loyalty seemed out of character to the shivering little thing moments ago, it was a pleasant surprise for everyone in the Company, who were apart from Dwalin and the King, were beaming at him.

Bow left out a lungful of air, closed the door shut and turned back into the room. She planted herself a few feet in front of the King, her hands clenched into her side trying to stave away the dull ache of her neck.

"If I give you the information you want ,will you promise safe passage and that I shall leave freely when your terms are satisfied?" Formality clipped her voice. She knew little of Dwarves but apart from their love of gold they were sticklers for contracts and agreements.

"In the name of Thorin Oakenshield, Prince under the mountain. You have my word." He bowed his head and extended his calloused hand out towards her.

Without thinking her rubbed the back of her neck and smiled nervously on instinct. "Forgive me if I do not shake your hand, shaking hands usually ends up with me locked in cupboards."

After an awkward moment of silence Gandalf's laugh boomed and the others followed.

Apparently dwarves can only really function seriously on a full stomach. So after much singing and much back slapping the dwarves emptied poor Bilbo's entire larder of food and sat down to a massive meal. Much to the displeasure and disgruntled ply of Bilbo Baggins .

For the most part Bow sat in the corner in silence. She wasn't used to the noise and the throng of people was foreign to her. And when they did all sit down to eat she was not either used to the amount of food.

In all the days she could remember she had never had a plate as full as this one. And for the first time in her life she ate until she was full and not until her food had gone.

A very fat Dwarf called Bombur sat to her right offered her a spongy fruit thing. Bow's eyes widened with shock at its taste. "That's amazing! Its so ...so spongy!"

Bombur chortled although you could not see his lips move under his great plaited beard which by this time in the evening had mustard mated into it. "It's just sponge cake, haven't you had it before?"

"You've never had cake?!" The two brothers, almost identical in manner, shouted across the table in unison. She looked at her hands and shrugged, anxiety growing under so many stares.

It had been clear to Bow and any that watched her, that in the presence of so many people she was shy and fearful . The loud noise and dark hallways of Bilbo's little house brought Bow's old fears into sudden reality.

Kili was dumb struck into silence, so Fili spoke first. "How ? Well, what else haven't you had?" His mouth actually hung open in wonder. In response Bow picked up a familiar looking apple and bit into it. She just shrugged back at the brothers.

"Have you had wine before?" Kili ventured, his eyebrows raised questioningly. Bow thought a moment then replied "I had ale once." The brothers cried out in outrage before to scrambling off in search of a cask.

She was about to turn back to her plait when she saw Bilbo appear at her elbow. Swinging her legs around the bench she saw the old nervous Bilbo had returned.

"I was wondering that perhaps.. . if you would like...um perhaps like to refresh yourself. I have put out hot water for you in the spare bedroom." He looked up from his hands and shifted his feet.

She glanced around nervously at Bofur and Bombur who were throwing pork pies at each other behind her back.

Years of outside living had taken its toll on her knowledge of etiquette and manners. She leaned close to Bilbo's ear "Refresh?"

Bilbo swallowed, his posture visibly uncomfortable, "Wash... you've got a bit of ..." His voice trialled off into nothing while his hand made a rubbing motion around his mouth.

"Oh!" sudden realisation hitting her. "Don't worry it's just Orc blood." She may have said a bit too loudly for the room was now faltered in a sudden silence, many of the Dwarves had food half way to their mouths.

"Orc blood?!" Kili and Fili had returned with a cask and were now staring with morbid fascination sparkling in their eyes. Bow quickly began to retreat from the room.

Just before she crossed out the door way , from the corner of the room Thorin , who was sat alone in the chair in the corner, lowered his pipe.

"Yes nephews, Orc blood. I'm sorry, I must have forgotten to mention. Bow here, likes to rip Orc ears off, with her teeth." Bow could see the sadistic grin growing on the King's face and she could feel the astonished stares burrowing into her back.

Retreating to the spare bedroom she locked the door tightly behind. The room was a large and a size Bow wasn't used to, so she quickly lit as many candles as she could find. Putting them in the four corners she felt safe against the encroaching dark.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she stripping off her jerkin and the under shirt then carefully unwrapped the tight bandage that she used to hold her breasts restrained.

Her skin was covered in small battle scars. They mapped her past that had been forged in blood. The newest wound she received from the stake would sit just below her collar bone.

Turning her attention to her face she scrubbed hard at the bloody grin on her chin and neck. No wonder the Halfling was scared of her, she looked like a rabid animal.

When her skin was rubbed pink she turned her attention to her hair which was mattered with dried blood. Maybe her own or the Orcs she couldn't tell.

Pouring more water out into the carved wooden basin she tended her wounds as best she could. Suddenly she drew out of the pain and noticed a light tapping at the door. Frowning with difficult she pulled on her baggy undershirt and answered it.

Unlatching the door an inch Bow peered between the crack . Standing in front of her door were two dwarfs. The both had similar faces, large noses and large sweeping foreheads. However one was much older with almost entirely grey hair with an elaborately twisted beard that had a hearing horn sticking out of the side and the other had startling red hair decorated with silver clasps.

"Thorin said you needed a healer." The one with grey hair spoke in an overly loud and commanding voice. Oin was the older of the brothers, Bow had learnt earlier, he was a gifted healer but years at war had taken a toll on his hearing.

"I don't need a healer, I can manage ..." she began trying not to be offensive. Although her insides squirmed in annoyance at Thorin's presumptions.

"What!? " Oin shouted back at her and adjusting his hearing horn .

"Uh actually missy I think you do." The younger Dwarf , Gloin frowned pointing at her shoulder. Under the strain of her kidnap and washing herself the injury on her shoulder was now bleeding freely, gushing through the whiteness of her shirt.

Cursing loudly and with profanity she opened the door wider and retreated back into the room and sat down on an old wooden chest at the foot of the bed.

Over the next few minutes little attention was paid to her. The two brothers follow her into the room leaving the door open behind them. Bustling about Oin shouts deafeningly for Bilbo to fetch some more hot water and an old towel. Gloin meanwhile unhooks a little satchel from his belt and emptied the contents on the wooden side table.

Bow tried to steady her breathing as the old Dwarf lowered the shoulder of her shirt to look at the wound. Wrapping an arm around her chest to protect her modesty she turned her head away towards the wall. Trying desperately to think of anything apart from the rough hands touching her skin .

"You have some splinters stuck well in there, we'll have to get them out." Oin turned back to his brother and retrieved a long sharp looking pair of tweezers. She slammed her eyes shut and looked away again as a wave of nausea rolled the contents of her full stomach; Oin had begun to pick at the worried edges of her ripped flesh.

Against the blackness of her eyes she heard short padding footsteps enter the room and a slight clunk as Bilbo placed a new bowl of hot water on the side. Gloin grunted "Bout time Lad."

"Is that blood...?" said a weak voice. Suddenly there was a sharp intake of breathe and a heavy thud. Opening her eyes she found Bilbo passed out of the floor, his body sprawled out bonelesily. The two Dwarves merely snorted in annoyance and propped his body into a sitting position next to Bow's wooden chest.

It was then that Gandalf pocked his massive head under the door and into the room. He tutted and nudged the Hobbits leg with his foot.

"Oh my dear Bilbo." The wizard mumbled under his breath. "He doesn't like blood apparently." Bow couldn't see the Hobbits face because of the mass of curls but she could imagine his cute little features calmed in sleep.

"Well he'll have to grow out of that." Gandalf huffed, passing Bow a mug that had been hidden under his long grey sleeves. Inside the mug deep red liquid sloshed about, Bow sniffed at the metallic oaky aroma.

"What is it?" she asked looking up at Gandalf. The old man chortled deep within his throat.

"Its wine my child," smiling down at her again, he turned back into the room and pulled up a chair in front of her.

"I am not a child!" she was taking out her pain on the cheerful old man but she didn't care, she ground her teeth as Oin twisted at a particularly stubborn splinter within her shoulder. "I am not a child so do not patronise me so." Although her voice had calmed she let her irritation be clear.

Gandalf's face remained impassive as he smoked his long pipe. "Drink. It will help with the pain" His eyes indicated to the mug.

Bow sniffed at the wine then took two big gulps of the stuff, face contorted, she spit out her stained tongue in disgust.

"Sip it, girl! You're supposed to sip it." Gandalf chortled again rosy cheeks appearing on his face.

Warmth was beginning to grow threw her feet and hands in an odd numbness. Meanwhile Oin was pressing a wet clothe into her shoulder. It was a pleasant reprieve from the pain before.

"I told you Gandalf, I am not a child." The sternness of her words was lost in a squeaky hiccup. Frowning at her body's weakness to the wine she set her cup aside.

Gandalf's face was warmly calm and reassuring. Apart from the Hobbit and Gandalf, Bow could not remember the last time she felt so unafraid in a man's company.

"That may yet be established. Pray how old are you?" His voice was gently prodding and he pulled the tiny chair, which strained under his weight, closer.

Bow shrugged looking towards the brothers who bickered about what ointment was best to use. "The years start blending together after a while. I know I had a twenty fifth birthday once but that was so long ago now." She could feel the intense stare from Gandalf's blue eyes watching her.

" But what have you been doing all this time?" His eyes sparkled with sincerity and his eyebrows pulled together in a puzzled frown.

She kept her voice flat and emotionless. "I travelled a lot. With a Ranger then but now on my own." Nervous energy filled her body and she struggled to not draw attention to the fact she was tilting her head covering old scars on her neck with her hair and pulling down the sleeves of her shirt around her knuckles.

"Ah." Was all Gandalf said. Bow was looking around the bedroom but refused to meet Gandalf's eyes.

"So your family...?" The Wizard began to ask a question but Bow interrupted.

"I don't have one." She spoke so fast and changed the subject so quickly that Gandalf had no time to reply merely stared at her with all-knowing eyes. They bowered into her skull that made her feel like all her secrets were laid bare. "Do you know where my things were put?" she asked one of the brothers as they finished wrapping her shoulder in a tight "Y" shaped bandage.

Left in the stables, she thought with mirth as see pulled on her jerkin with a clenched fists , much to the protests of the two brothers. She marched out into the now quiet hallway but heading for the door she noticed her old leather duffle propped against the side of the door frame.

"So glad you could join us!" A loud voice called from the sitting room. Retracing two of her steps she saw the smiling face of the Dwarf with tall white hair. Balin and the rest of the Company, apart from Oin and Gloin who were now just taking a seat, had arranged themselves around a table. Thorin Oakenshield at its head, the dwarves Kili and Fili beamed up at her with jollity. But her attention was fixed on Thorin.

His tough body was facing her , leant against the table on thick arms of muscle which rested on large strong hands on the table . It was then that Bow truly saw the Dwarf for the first time. In the flickering of the fire light, the way he held his head, the strain of his shoulders and the defiance in his spine, showed his authority and called for others submission . The tension that his body created in a room was like a leaf creating ripples in a pool,it was clear that his Company would follow him. He was their pillar of marble in an uncertain world. His strength was theirs.

With no further ceremony she crossed her arms over her chest and straightened her spine in an insolent manner. "Ask away?"

Thorin's eyes beamed out of the semi-darkness of the room, like blue gems they shone like cats eyes. They're stares in mutual stubbornness; in a silent game of self control which who looked away first was the lesser man.

"Rumour has it that the Orcs are moving, what do you know of this" Thorin asked in a commanding tone the irritated Bow. Swallowing indignation she answered.

"Something is rising in the east . Its drawing Orcs to it. I cannot be sure on number." Plain and simple she kept her answers short and to the point.

"How do you know this?" the bald dwarf Dwalin asked sharply. Jerking her head away from Thorin's intense gaze , she inclined her head to the warrior dwarf.

" I have followed them. As far as I could . I don't not enter the mountains. Even I cannot hide from a Warg in those stone valleys." Wargs were fast and deadly, getting caught by one of them would probably be the last thing you ever did. However this was not the reason she avoided it. But like most things, she'd locked the memories behind an iron curtain of routine and stoicism.

"How were you not discovered following?" To surprise Bow's the King's head was now bowed, his eyes set in tired resentment. His was voice gruff and stern and it grated against the crackling of the fire and silence of the room.

"I know secret paths, trails, ways to follow without being seen or smelt. I kill packs of four or five but lately larger groups are travelling more and more." From the corner of her eye she noticed Kili and Fili gape at each other in disbelief before grinning manically at her, much to the displeasure of their uncle. There was a low murmur of excitement from the rest of the Company.

"And what do you know of the White Orc?" Raising his body, he stretched out his back and rolled his round massive shoulders and he turned and faced Bow again. Thorin's eyes had darkened considerably in the flickering fire light as if a dark jewel had been emerged in the smouldering embers of a fire.

Bow looked down at her hands a moment. In the darkness of her mind she could see the burning outlines of Lake Town and hear the distant screams of children.

"Azog The Defiler" she answered in a hushed tone. Listening to the crackle of the fire before she continued . " He is the one who put the price on my head. In fact I'm sure beyond reasonable doubt. He wants my head on a silver platter. And he wants revenge." The frankness of her tone surprised even herself.

"What did you do to cause such anger?" A little voice in the corner squeaked, clutching a note book within thick knits.

"He has a right to seek revenge for I killed his son. Slit his throat." Her tone strong and wilful but also emotionless and without remorse. Bow as now aware that along with a few glances of approval , but most of the Dwarves regarded her with a flicker of fear.

Slight footsteps in the corridor behind caused her to turn. The Halfling and Gandalf in the semi-darkness of the wooden corridor. Bilbo was pale though he seemed to gain strength from Gandalf's hand which rested on his shoulder.

Bow let Gandalf pass into the quiet sanctum of the room. All was still and silent. Bow could feel the heat of Bilbo's little body as he tried to use her body as a shield against Thorin's unrelenting gaze, she glanced back into the Hobbit's sparkling eyes and shot him a very rare reassuring smile.

The two dominating bodies of Gandalf and Thorin blocked most of the light from the room. Their heads pressed together in almost silent communication. After many hushed words Thorin took a step back from the Wizard's body and, as if in a final word Gandalf retorted sternly, "We need them. Both of them ." His words were a stubborn clarity against the silence of the living room.

Thorin threw his body around to glare at Gandalf, veins pounding in neck and forehead , he let out a frustrated roar. A sound which can only be compared with some wild beast in the midst of blood lust. Bilbo let out a tiny moan in fear and Bow strengthened her spine against his tide of rage.

He nodded at Balin who eyed him impassively, Thorin turned back to the burning fire occasionally throwing seething looks in Bow's direction.

Over the next hour or so, Bow couldn't tell, the sunlight had fully disappeared and the stars were in full shine against the dark black of the nights sky.

The words that the old grey Dwarf spoke washed over her in a wave of incomprehension. Her mind had been in a whirl, a mess of incomplete sentences and ideas. One word soaked into her mind like a drop of blood desecrating the translucent water. Erebor.

A door long forgotten, or a letter left unread and a locked box; images and scents and emotions long veiled in illusions of the mind were now laid bare. Erebor.

Unflinching against the images painted by Bofur of the monstrous Smaug, Bow had silently resigned herself to the quest of the Lonely Mountain without any reservation.

She stumbled forward as the sudden weight of the Hobbit hit her square in the back. Clenching her teeth against the wrenching pain of her shoulder, she caught the stricken Hobbit before he hit the floor. Now a Burglar, his unconscious face was calm in sleep.

"Much use he's gonna be!" One Dwarves said with venom, Bow didn't know this one but he elaborately plaited grey hair indicated him as one of the elders. Dori, as she later found out was always a pessimist.

"He is not a warrior like you. He has probably never picked up a sword in his life. How did you expect him to react!" Her instant frenzy at Dori portrayed feelings for the Hobbit that she couldn't name. The little thing would be thrown into a world so much bigger than he knew. Bow knew that in the fierceness of the world outside of the shire, the Hobbit would probably lose his homely naivety which almost warmed her heart.

Two Dwarves rose to meet her challenge, hands on their daggers and a smaller, younger one lagging behind the older ones. Bow cocked her eyebrow, daring them to make a move.

"Enough!" A clear and resounding bark leapt from the figure leaning on the mantel piece. Thorin hadn't spoken for almost an hour, stern in silence and brooding manner deterred people from interrupting his solace. At the order of their King the brothers backed down, sulking in a corner amongst themselves.

Bow's eyes gazed at the great Dwarf. Probably a poor facade of his former glory, he was a shell of the man he once was. But still, every bit of the fearsome King and warrior.

Her legs carried her unknowingly to his side. And they both stood in the shared solace of the dancing flames.

"He will come. I know he will." She had seen the strength of the Hobbit, she had faith. Bow's voice was calm and emotionless, she was unusually aware of the dry heat radiating from Thorin's body, but to her surprise she didn't feel the need to move away.

The King's body turned to look at her, strong and unyielding, he placed an arm on the mantelpiece in front of her. His eyes were sad and stern, he studied her face.

"We need you as our guide. If they're as many Orc's as you say then we'll need all the help we can get." She didn't meet his probing eyes, she merely kept them fixed on the fire. "Of course when we reach Erebor you will be rewarded for all..." She snapped and spoke more harshly than she'd intended.

"What use have I for gold. You cannot eat it, it cannot keep a family warm in winter!" She spat with gall and glared with venom into the fire.

In the corner of her eye Thorin's eyes knitted together in misunderstanding. "What kind of Dwarf are you?" Slow and hushed was his tone, he bent his head closer to hers, his gaze to direct to serious. It was as if the dazzling blue of his gaze saw right through her ranker.

She drowned the sea of his stare. "Libraries," she blustered in her discomfort. "Erebor has a library I presume?" she licked a glance at the great Dwarf standing to close to her body, too close for her to breath. His brow was again, knitted together in mystification.

"If it hasn't been burnt to pieces by Smuag, then yes." His eyes flickered across her face, searching for her meaning.

"In return for my help I would request free reign of your library and all your census's." Words tumbled out her mouth without full comprehension of her own meaning.

If Thorin could look anymore astounded he would have but, as Bow saw, he struggled to keep his face in check. But before he could speak Bow butted in, wanting this conversation to be over as soon as possible. Turning her body towards his, she put on her mask of bravado and strong willed certainty. "My reasons are my own Thorin Oakenshield. And I would also request your personal confidentially on the terms of our contract." Perfectly formal, her tone was clipped and cold. Still not daring to meet the absorbing darkness of Thorin's iris .

"We have an agreement." Suddenly the warm claw like hands were clamped on her shoulders and heat engulfed as she was pulled towards his body and gently, almost without touching her at all, pressed his sweeping forehead against hers.

A mossy smell of maple and cider, of smoke and freshly cut grass overwhelmed her senses but was then ripped away all too suddenly.

Deafening cheers shook the rafters of the small house, Kili or Fili, she couldn't tell which pulled into a fray of hugging dwarves. Pulling viciously away but somehow managing to retain a beaker of ale that had been pressed into her hand.

Many shouts of "Three cheers for our guide!" ran around her head with dizzying abandon. At one point in the evening she was plonked down next to Bilbo, who was now awake. He had his head In his hands, obviously fretting for mother's dishes that were now in the perilous hands of Fili and Kili. The little Hobbit leaned and whispered hoarsely in her ear. "You look worried." A mere polite statement from someone who had better things on their mind .

"I'm sorry about your house." She replied, wincing as a metal pan clanged in the kitchen.

"That's not the real reason you look worried." Sparkling beady eyes that missed nothing. The eyes of a burglar.

"I fear that if you make friends with me, you make enemies with others. These are warriors Bilbo Baggins," she gestured to Ori, Dori and Nori who juggling apples and pinching their younger brother. "But I fear I will lead them unknowingly into danger." In all the years that Bow could remember she had never spoken so frankly to another living creature.

The Hobbit swallowed and licked his lips, then opened his mouth to speak but before he could speak Bow was pulled to her feet again by Gandalf.

Light was started to dawn on the horizon when the last of the Dwarves finally fell asleep. Habit and nervous energy nibbled at her neck. Her own fear would be her undoing one day and she knew it.

Snores and mumbled quibbles dabbled the silence of the house but still she could not shake the feeling she was being observed.

Bow yawned and dragged a hand down her face. She knew what she had to do to sleep and the it was necessary. She needed to set the pace tomorrow, even if the Hobbit came or not, she couldn't show any weakness in front of the Dwarves. No weakness. No chink in her amour.

With an angry flick of her hair, she was ashamed of herself, a childish habit she should have grown out of but she needed sleep. 

She had learnt from an early age that to control her fears and her nightmares she needed to control all certainties. And now as she huddled in the dark, her own little habitat, she began to nod off to sleep until the noises of the morning began. And her unexpected journey continued.


	3. Trolls are a bitch

Dwalin was first to rise although Thorin hadn't really been asleep. Scratching at the inky tattoos on the back of his head he got to his feet and yawned, stretching his thick arms against the chill that had entered his bones during the night. Making his way out of the living room to go take a piss, he kicked Oin in the leg. Oin grunted and thumped his brothers. And so the carpet of Dwarfs began to stir.

All accept Thorin. He hadn't slept. He never did really, he merely sat for hours in the dark, hands resting against eyes in the dark. At the sound of the company rousing ,Thorin dragged a hand threw his knotted hair and opened his eyes against the light now streaming through the front windows.

The Company were tired, befuddled and still thick with sleep, but with the warming morning Thorin could tell that his nephews would soon be bouncing of the walls in excitement. However they were not yet awake so Thorin enjoyed the peace while he had it.

"Where's the Hobbit?" Thorin asked Dwalin when he returned, already knowing the answer. The stiff shake of his old friend's bald head . It was regretful but the Hobbit would have slowed them down anyway and he had enough to worry about with their volatile guide.

There were so many dangers ahead. Too many uncertainties and now he had to worry about Bow. She was a dangerous Dwarf. But whether she actually poised a threat to them was a different matter. She was erratic, violent and volatile. But dangerous to them ?

A flash of paternal instinct flared up in the back of his mind. And he scanned the living room for his nephews. They had crammed themselves into the corner. Kili had his head resting against the wall with one of his legs out in front of him, the other rested over a stool. Fili was cradled into his body, his head snuggled on his chest and his legs entwined with Kili's. Thorin swallowed and looked away. He should have separated them, he knew it. Dis had entrusted their welfare to him, he'd tried to push them in the right direction but they would only travel the path they wanted.

He'd never love again. Even if The Company didn't know it, he knew did. He looked at them as his own, the sons he'd never have, the line of Durin rested with them now. Thorin swallowed bile that rose in the back of his throat, a good father he'd make leading them straight into peril, straight into the lion's den. Or the dragon's .

There was a heavy thump as Dwalin sat heavily down next to him. "There's no sign of the Guide either. I knew she'd do a runner." He said it under his breath, tilting his head towards Thorin's ear to keep the others from hearing his words.

Hiding a grin of amusement, Thorin stood up stiffly, then abruptly kicked the wooden box that Dwalin was sitting on. The warrior Dwarf's brow furrowed in confusion . "What yo..Ah!" His question was lost in a cry of alarm as he was thrown into the air and landed in a sprawled heap on the floor cursing with a wild curse. The lid of the wooden box burst open and Bow stood fists clenched and chest heaving. Silhouetted against the large glass windows, her hair was a matted tangle and she had deep blue bruising dappled the back of her neck and the side of her face.

"Pe-channas! Are trying to suffocate me!" She raged, leaping out of the box, she marched towards Dwalin who now sprung to face her. "How dare you!" He growled reaching for his knife.

Bow threw all her weight into shoving him hard in the chest. "Ego, milbo orc!" she spat with venom. Her body was tensed to battle, legs spread in fighting stance. Dwalin too spread his shoulders and blew out his chest in angry resentment as he stared down at the glaring woman in front of him.

Thorin laid a calming hand on his friends shoulder and muttered in his ear. The old Dwarf's posture relaxed slightly and he nodded at his King with annoyance and resentment. "You wouldn't be worth the effort anyway." He growled in Bow's face before turning and marching into the hallway.

Fire still boiling in her veins she wheeled on Thorin who merely wore a grim smirk on his tired face and crossed his leather clad arms over his broad chest. "I didn't need your help. We had a score to settle!" She growled up at his annoyingly composed face.

"Please, do you really think I'd let Dwalin waste his energy on you. If you really want to fight save it for the Orcs but for now stay out of his way." The cool emotionlessness' of his words cut like a knife threw the cheery atmosphere of the morning and left Bow feeling cold.

Thorin turned away and walked out with an amused smirk when Bow couldn't think of a retort. The sound of snorted laughter caught her attention behind her. Kili was pushing the body of his brother away from him and tiredly trying to stand. His brother mumbled something and tried to hold on to his brothers torso, grumbling that it wasn't time to get up yet. However when Fili stood, Kili growled in annoyance and used the wall as his new pillow, wiping sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"And what do you think your laughing at?" she shot a seething stare at the older brother, gall still high from her confrontation with Dwalin. In a similar action to his brother he wiped sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand and fixed his tired light blue eyes on her with a huff of exasperation.

"I don't know whether to think you brave or stupid. Picking a fight with Dwalin , not the wisest move." He shook out the tangled mess of blonde hair behind his shoulders and placed his large hands on his hips.

"I only reacted to his insult. He shouldn't..." She began an disgruntled torrent of annoyance, gesturing wildly in the air with her hand. But before she could continue the young prince butted in.

"What? He shouldn't have accidently sat on the random box you were sleeping in. Really, how was he supposed to know and besides why were you sleeping in there anyway?" He shook his head confusion, his brows scrunched together and he dragged a hand threw his golden beard trying to smooth it.

Bow just stood defiantly, back bone as straight and proud as she could carry it, keeping her face as emotionless as possible.

Fili continued his troubled stare. He hadn't yet gained the coldness or intensity that his uncle had, but it was still unsettling earnest . "You know what, pick an enemy and stick to it. It's either the Orcs or us." With a final serve tone, he knelt down and shook Kili's shoulder in an attempt to wake him more.

Bow didn't know if it was the fact that she'd travelled on her own for so long or that she just wasn't used to people taking an interest in her actions. Whatever it was she found Fili's words unsettlingly resounding.

Fili had knelt down to his drowsy brother; placing a hand on his shoulder he gently shook him. Kili opened his eyes dreamily and gazed up at his brother, with a small smile under his dark hair he placed his hand over his brothers and with the other gently stroked the short golden beard under his brother's lower lip.

Bow's eyes didn't deceive, for a heart beat the two brothers beamed at each other in the rays of the morning sunlight which illuminated them both. A small grin spread on Fili's tanned face. But in another heart beat the moment was gone, Fili's face was once again stern as he pulled his brother to his feet.

Now on his feet, the younger brother tried to stretch out his arching body but quickly winced and hunched down. Kili let out a hushed gasp in pain and his brother and Bow glanced over to him. Fili placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Kili...?" Fili's worried eyes ran up and down his brother's body until he saw the huge erection pressing painfully against his brother's trousers. Letting out an amused snort Fili let his brother stand straight.

Laughing , rather nervously Bow thought, Kili caught her eye and nudging his brother, he grinned and in an obnoxiously loud voice which seem to carry around the whole house said. "Least that's one good thing with taking a women along, she can take care of my morning Wood. And at night we can all have a piece of her little..."

Bow hadn't realized her body was moving but blind with rage she grabbed Kili's ears and slammed her forehead into his, making a very satisfying Whack! Nutting him hard, his body crumpled against the wall behind him. Her chest rose and fell too quickly and her furious breath was panting.

The groaning figure in front of her cradled his head in his hands before shooting a pleading look up to his brother ,who was surprisingly highly amused by the whole situation.

"Actually Brother, you kind of deserved that." Fili stated, ruffling his brother's hair slightly.

"Aye that he did." Bofur was standing by Bow's side, grinning like a maniac. Looking down at her he tried to place a calming hand on her shoulder. "You gave him what he deserved, now leave him be." His words were meant to calm her fury, they did in their way. Dragging her shoulder away from Bofur's she stormed out the little house, throwing her duffle bag over her shoulder as she went and slamming the circular door behind her.  
***

The Company were starting to move, packing bags, pulling on boots and making their way out of the little house. It was late dawn now and the sun had just begun to burn the dew of the grassy road side.

Much to Thorin's surprise Bow was waiting impatiently with a dappled grey horse which was chomping on grass. She was sat on the curb of Bilbo's path just outside the gate. From the back where Thorin stood, he could see a small parting in her dark hair and thick purplish bruising spreading over the back of her neck. He quickly looked away, swallowing his guilt.

At the sound of his commanding bark the rest of the Company started spilling out of the house. When finally Gandalf closed the door behind him and with a regretful look back, donned his large grey hat and walked down Bilbo's path towards where the Company were now mounting horses.

After much struggling getting Bombur onto his poor pony, Thorin nodded to Gandalf who then called "Head to Bywater and we'll make for the Buckle Berry Ferry and then onto Bree!" And with no more ceremony they started their long journey towards the east and towards Erebor.

Travelling out of the rolling hills of the Shire and slowly but surely the smoke rising from Bag End disappeared over the horizon.

Bow was riding her horse next to Bifur, a fierce warrior who had the head of an axe implanted in his skull and a striped grey and black beard. He never spoke but Bow didn't mind that and he didn't seem to mind Bow's company either so they both rode in a comfortable silence while the others chatted loudly. But Thorin's call from the head of the column was clear and loud "Bow!" he turned in his saddle and roughly beckoned her with a wave of his hand.

Clenching her jaw in annoyance and tightening her reigns she spurred her horse into a canter and joined Thorin at the front of the Company. He barely glanced in her direction as her slowed her horse next to him, he rode in a proud manner, holding the reigns with one hand.

"Where'd you get that horse, I didn't see one tied up at your camp?" Thorin asked mildly not bothering to take his eyes of the road ahead.

Bow licked at her dry mouth uncomfortably and fixed her gaze in between her horse's ears. "I may have borrowed from one of Bilbo's neighbours." She huffed as she felt the Thorin's disgruntled eyes on her. "I left compensation!" She snapped back, quickly glancing at his lurid blue eyes.

"I thought you said the Halfling would come?" he spoke quiet and insolently tempting Bow to lose he temper, he still not meeting Bow's eye. But Bow noticed that his knuckles were white clenching his reigns in suppressed anger.

Swallowing her annoyance her stated calmly and without emotion . "He will be, don't be impatient." She kept her eyes ahead of her, following the path deeper into the forest, but she could feel Thorin's eyes on her face.

"What makes you so sure?" His eyes had narrowed and peered at her. She didn't react merely kept her eyes averted.

"He has courage, even for a mere Halfling, I can see it plain as day." She had seen the fire in the little Hobbit's eyes and heard the sincerity in his voice, she was usually a good judge of character, she knew the Hobbit would come. If he'd be any help was another question.

"Well if you're right about the Hobbit he'd better hurry up or he won't..." Suddenly Thorin's stern voice was cut off by Bilbo's harassed cries coming over the hill behind them and in a heartbeat the little Hobbit came bounding over the hill, waving his signed contract with wild abandon.

Bow stopped her horse and let her lips curl into a smug smile and cocked her eyebrow as Thorin openly gawked at the Hobbit who was now dashing towards them like a rabbit being chased by a fox.

After many panted gasps and being slapped on the back by some of the younger Dwarves and after stopping the whole convoy to complain he'd forgotten his handkerchief, Bilbo was sat uncomfortably on a skittish pony next to Bow, who had been charged with keeping him under control by Gandalf.

As the day light began to fade Bilbo had made several half heart attempts to escape back to the Shire. Eventually Bow had lost her temper and took Bilbo's reigns, leading his pony by the bridle. Bilbo however continued to babble, wittering about nothing in particular.

"And Mother wouldn't like if I let the flower beds go untended. I am a Baggins of Bag End, not a Took. Well I am a little Took but I'm more Baggins really. I am good Hobbit." He ranted under his breath, his curly hair shaking as furiously as his shaking body.

"Bilbo, do me a favour and shut up!" Bow missed riding in silence with Bifur and was now in a bad mood for three reasons. Firstly sometime around midday her neck and shoulders had really started to throb. Secondly she started to realise that she'd annoyed nearly everyone in the Company apart from Bilbo, Bombur and Bifur. Nori,Dori and Ori all shot untrusting glances at her, Kili and Fili rode apart from the main group and Balin, Thorin and Dwalin rode ahead; every now and then glancing back to keep track on her and the Hobbit. And finally to top it all off the mad ranting of Bilbo had given her a head ache.

In a desperate attempt to shut him up she asked him a question she'd been wandering about. "Bilbo, you know back at Bag End when you bowed to me. " She looked at him over her shoulder which ached against the pulling of Bilbo's horse.

The Hobbit nodded. "Well when I bowed back why did Kili and Fili laugh?" looking back on it she had mimicked Bilbo exactly, she couldn't see what was funny about it. The idea that they had some inside joke about her made her skin itch in annoyance.

From behind her the Hobbit cleared his throat and began to speak in the nervous little voice he had. "Well you... well I bowed but, well... you were supposed to curtsy. Only men bow." Bow stopped her horse so that their bodies were level. "Curtsy?" she peered down at him questionly. She didn't like to think her lost knowledge of etiquette would make her a target for japes.

Bilbo looked around uncomfortably for a moment. Before raising in his stirrups and making fluttering movements with his hands. "You know, curtsy." A shout from Dwalin at the front of the convoy shocked the Hobbit so much that he squeaked and fell in a sprawled heap on the grass. And with an amused smirk, Bow and the rest of the Company dismounted, thankful that they could now stretch they're bones.

In the evening to come, Bow tried to spend as much time apart from the others as she could. Travelling with them was bad enough but spending the evening with them was another. While the others huddled within a rocky outcrop around a large fire, Bow sat on top of the boulders enjoying the feel of the cold breeze, shadows cast by the moonlight and the quietness of the night, only catching distant snippets of the conversation below.

However when the moon had fully set and darkness had descended Gandalf called her down from her resting place . "My dear Bow, It would be wise to sleep closer to the fire." His clear blue eyes cast out into the wilderness before returning to her. "You don't know what's lurking out there."

His tone was quiet, as if to prevent the spread of unease with the other members of the Company, however his assumption that she hadn't scanned the surrounding area or wasn't listening for distant animals howls irritated her. But it had been a long day and really she was too tired to argue.

So pressing her lips together into a line she replied should keep the first watch. Setting her pack down just within the light cast by the fire, she withdrew a furry pair of cuffs and pulled on a matching fur hood. And plumped her bag to make it more comfy to rest against it .

From the other side of the fire she noticed two black, beady eyes watching her with interest but as soon as she met them they hurriedly turned away. She hadn't spoken to Ori, he was quiet and timid, one of the youngest of the group his brothers were absurdly over protective and due to their ill feeling towards her she assumed they would, probably, never speak.

Taking up her position, she let the night slip away. While the others gradually grew rowdy from too much ale and then eventually fell asleep, she was content to watch the stars ahead and feel the strength of the earth under her.

Whether the other watch hadn't bothered to wake up or had forgotten, it didn't matter, Bow sat awake until the others began to stir. And with much less grumbling and less fuss than the morning before, the company packed and set off once more, heading slightly north to avoid Weathertop. Bow had a slightly better days ride, apart from the freezing rain, she rode mostly alongside Bifur in comfortable silence. She could hear complaints from Kili and Fili at the back of the column who were getting splattered by everyone else's mud. Bow grinned evilly and rode her horse harder into the mud.

But by the time evening was encroaching many of the Company were grumbling, however it was Gandalf and Thorin who came to blows most. Bow kept apart, brushing down the mud that had matted into her horse's fur, but she watched the huge grey figure of Gandalf storming off over the hill.

"Don't worry he'll be back." Kili's clear voice rose from the horse on the other side of Bow. Moving along a bit he peered at her above his pony's neck, while it munched on grass. "He'll be back, he always is." He nodded and looked down brushing something out of his pony's mane. His cautious demeanour suggested he hadn't finished speaking so Bow simply crossed her arms over her chest and waited impatiently for water was beginning to soak through her leather coat and boats.

"I'm sorry about back at Bilbo's" he burst out in embarrassment, wiping rain hurriedly of his face. "I was really out of line for... you know what I said." Bow could tell he was sincere; she could tell in the way the dark hazel eyes sparkled under his wet hair, which was quickly beginning to curl.

"Well I guess we're kind of even." She put the mask of a smile on her face and indicated to the purple yellowish bruise that had risen just above his right eyebrow, slightly hidden by his black hair.

With an uncomfortable nod and a grin she turned back to his work caring for the horses, which meant that Bow could make a quick escape back towards camp.

The wind had risen and darkness had fallen too quickly. And a metallic scent in the air made Bow's heckles stand up and gave her goosebumps. Around the dilapidated old abandoned shack that they used for cover, she did a quick head count. Minus Kili and Fili tending the horses she still only made ten, someone was missing.

Suddenly rush of raw panic flooded her. Launching over Bombur who was dishing out stew and leaping over Bofur's outstretched legs, she skidded to a halt in front of Thorin and grasped his shoulders violently. "Where's Bilbo?!" Thorin recognised the lilt of panic in her voice as he and the others began to look around.

Nori spoke first "He's probably up with Kili and Fili tending the..." His words dropped away in mid sentence, distant shouting rose and the two tiny figures of Kili and Fili belted down the hill towards them.

Bow and Thorin swore violently at the same time. As if a signal the Company began strapping on weapons of all shapes and sizes. Bow raced over to her duffle and began lacing her daggers to her legs and arms.

"What do you think you're doing? You're not coming with us!" Dwalin growled when he saw her.

"Try and stop me!" she retorted venomously losing her temper, she threw some leather rope over her shoulder and secured it tight, and followed just behind Thorin running up the hill. The others were at her back and through the dense undergrowth in front of her were three fully grown mountain trolls.

The leaves of the fern tinkled her face as see crouched behind it for cover. Kneeling on all fours in the mud Bow peered between the foliage and into the flickering light of the troll's camp.

They were huge beasts. Bigger than any Bow had seen before. Giant, lumbering grey skinned animals, bickering amongst themselves how best to cook poor Bilbo . The stone trolls stench drifted down wind and made Bow's eyes water. There was blood still red on the ground from their last kill and now Bilbo was to be supper.

Bow's insides clenched as the little Hobbit struggled desperately in the hand of one of the trolls, letting out pitiful screams for help. To her right Kili and Fili were laid flat on their bellies, struggling to keep unseen, they were breathing to loud and their bodies made too many rustlings.

She nodded at them , their eyes beaming with excitement and anticipation, with cold calmness Bow raised three fingers. The brother's bodies were a frenzy of tension which grew as each of her fingers fell, until at last all three threw themselves into the fray with bloodcurdling battle cries.

The brothers targeted the first Troll they came to, wildly slashing at its arms and legs as it tried to squash them with its huge fists.

Bow however sprinted straight toward the one holding Bilbo. He was the biggest and ugliest, stamping wildly as Bow stabbed her daggers mercilessly into his ankles. Letting out a roar of rage, the troll dropped Bilbo heavily and he scurried away on his hands and knees. Fists were raining down on her, jumping left and right to avoid them, she sank her daggers deep within the Troll's knuckles then wrenched it down with all her weight. The Troll screamed in agony.

From her right there was a great orchestra of roars as the rest of the Company joined in. Dwalin and Thorin fought back to back, sword and axe flashing against the fire light, while to her left Ori was launching rocks left right and centre.

Without thinking twice she ran among the fray, unravelling the rope bound on her shoulders. Carefully and quickly she tied a loop around one of the Trolls feet as it tried to squash Nori with the other. Then, with the sound of her beating heart pounding on in her ears, she darted through the flailing limbs and angry roars.

In a blur of movement, almost in slow motion, Fili was whipped of his feet and high into the air in front of the snarling snout of a Troll. Kili screamed incoherently and brandished his sword with menace readying for an attack and so was the evil looking club which the Troll was hiding behind its back. Letting the rope fall from her hand and without thinking she threw her body forward with all the force she could muster and gripped the end of the club as it started to travel up towards Kili. Jarring her bones at the force of her landing, she gripped the Trolls ear's for balance as she grabbed at the dagger strapped to her calf, plunging it into the Troll's eye socket.

His scream was deafening. It shock his body under Bow, like a mountain of flesh in an earthquake. Bow was using the last of her strength just to hold on for dear life. Her ankles were locked together under his chin and her nails gorged deep bloody scratches down his ears as she tried to gain a hold.

Suddenly Bow let out a silent scream as a wall of flesh collided with her body, throwing it hurtling toward the rocky ground below.

A sudden and intense pain engulfed her and then all senses were surrounded in blackness.


	4. Of Wargs and Trolls

Gifts and Trolls

Hot and befuddled pain throbbed through her skull. Like instruments in an orchestra, Bow's head resounded with a dominant drum beat of pain while the rest suffered with the underlying tremors of her body's impact to the ground.

Her eyesight, at first, was blurred. A moving figure was fuzzy and blurred against the flickering firelight. Their images danced in front of her eyes. Under her body, the ground felt hard and cold with a few pointed rocks sticking painfully into the bandaged wound on her shoulder.

She sucked in air and exhaled in an attempt to clear her vision and her head.

To her left was a wriggling mass of bodies which appeared to be tied in sacks. Strikingly dark hair was visible glaring dangerously up at the stone Trolls.

Standing slightly apart from the others, Bilbo on his hands and knees, pleading with the Trolls about cooking techniques, Bow closed her eyes again and took in another deep breath - she was obviously hallucinating, that much was clear.

"Shall we skin them first?" the smallest Troll asked the largest licking a slobber of his great gawking mouth with a grey slobbering tongue. A desperate murmur rose from the ranks of the sack bound Dwarves.

Swallowing a rise of nausea, Bow very slowly, inch by inch, slid her arm {which was strewn over her head} down into her body so that it laid into her chest.

"Pests!" one of the Trolls rumbled in a confused snarl at the little Hobbit. But he kept his relative cool and, as he drew himself up to address the Trolls, Bow realised that the brave little Hobbit was trying to buy them time.

Against her dark lids she could see the movements of the three trolls against the flickering of the fire light which warmed the darkness of her eyelids. The heavy masses of the trolls moved off into the distance of the camp slightly.

Daring to open her eyes a little, , she strained her ears and eyes for a moment and, she carefully and gently slipped the top clasp of her jerkin open. Pausing slightly to listen , Bow slid her hand under the warm sheepskin of her jacket and gently, cautiously, withdrew her last knife. She gently slid the black steel stiletto carefully up her sleeve.

Suddenly against the blackness of her closed eyes she felt her space invaded by a mammoth figure standing over her, and her senses were invaded by the smell of sulphur and rotting flesh.

"What about this one?" a gravelly voice growled in front of her face with a moist wave of putrid air. There was the sound of air being sucked in around her. Bow felt her hair shift around her body; it had become un-tucked from her collar.

"This one smells sweet." Another rasp of stale breath, this time closer to her face. Close enough that she could feel the heat of the Troll's body pressing against her.

Suddenly a fist roughly grasped her foot and dragged her upside down into the air. Bow fought her self-preservation and kept her body relaxed and loose.

"No!" the Hobbit and the dwarves cried in raucous shouts of protest. They were quickly silence by an abrupt roar from all three Trolls in unison. The Dwarves fell still, bodies tensed with tension.

Blood began running to Bow's head making her body feel oddly cold and hollow. Her ankle moaned in protest at the vice like grip of the Troll. Her body swung a little as the Troll shifted its weight a little and brought her closer to his snout like nose.

Looking through her eyelashes and hair that had fallen in front of her face, Bow could see that the medium sized Troll had also lurched forward to look at her greedily. "Mmm… I would baste her in plum and brandy sauce with a little…"

"I saw her first, she's mine!" The largest one holding her bellowed, whipping her body down to his sides so that her fingers trailed the down trodden grass.

"She's mine." a dangerously cold voice spoke to Bow's left but she couldn't to see who it belonged to through her lashes.

"A tasty mouthful to help replace my eye . Bert, she stabbed out my eye!" the voice rose into a shrill maddened scream. Fighting the reflex to fight against the vicious jerking movements the Trolls hand made. The Troll growled loudly as he slapped the other with the back of his hand.

The sound of whimpering and the relative calm returned to the Trolls movements. Once again, he raised Bow into the air in front of his sniffing nose. From the right of her swinging body Bow finally heard the small voice of the Hobbit speak up in a surprisingly strong voice.

"You can't eat her," he interrupted suddenly, then looking surprised that he actually said it.

"Oh yeah, why's that?" The smaller Troll asked menacingly from the other side of the massive camp fire. But the large one continued to sniff and glare at her upside down body. Most of her attention was taken up by painful draining of her blood to her head and the new sensation of the Troll gently scraping a claw through her dangling hair.

"She's got…umm?" Bilbo began however the largest interrupted.

"I'm starving and besides she smells good enough to eat." Licking his lips as he lifted her body high into the air. For a sickening moment Bow could see right down into his gaping pink gullet and stinking mouth lined with black teeth.

Moving quicker that the stupid creature could comprehend, Bow slid the knife out of her sleeve and in one clean movement implanted it violently in the top of the Troll's mouth. In a spurt of blood, the tip perturbed through the top of the Trolls thick skull.

His face remained a blank mask of surprise as his grip loosed and Bow tumbled to the ground; Bow barely had enough time to squirm away from the flailing limbs of his huge body as it fell dead, twitching on the ground.

A great cry of anguish and a roar of anger echoed around the camp. A second later, just as Bow tensed her muscles in preparation to bolt into the undergrowth. A great and powerful booming voice rang over the Company.

Suddenly Bow shielded herself with her hand and slammed her eyes shut as a blinding flash of white light bleached the camp fire. Standing silhouetted against the golden red morning sun was the tall imposing figure of Gandalf the Grey, staff raised in defiance: Laying at his feet was a broken boulder and three Troll's now cast in stone.

Bow sank to her knee, resting an exhausted forehead against the cold sweat of her palm, allowing most of the tension in one strong exhale . Bilbo too was much relieved, having now collapsed in a spent pile while Gandalf helped release the other Dwarfs around them.

Suddenly a warm hand thumped heavily on her shoulder. Standing up, she wiped grit from her aching eyes with the back of her dirty hand.

Dwalin stood, tall and imposing, but nodded in an appreciative manner from Bow to the now stone body of the dead Troll. "That was a well-placed hit. Well done lass." His voice gruff as gravel, but he shook her shoulder with rough affection and with an assertive nod, walked back to his comrades.

Bow couldn't be sure but maybe the ill feeling from Bag End had been wiped clean; she had gained some sort of standing in the warrior's eyes. It was a relief she had gained at least one reliable ally.

She followed Dwalin at a distance, but slowly for she had just registered the humming and buzzing pain in the back of her skull.

While most of the others had tugged themselves free, Bilbo was still struggling with his knot which was tight and unyielding. The other dwarves seemed preoccupied with rounding up horses and gathering equipment etc, so didn't notice the poor Hobbit.

Taking pity on him, Bow went to help. "Stop it, you're making it tighter." She said in a surprisingly soothing voice ,taking Bilbo's hands away from the knot and began to tease at the cord.

Bilbo was quietly contemplating her for a second before addressing her in a small voice. "We thought you were a goner for sure. The way that Troll battered you to the ground like that. I've never seen anything like it in all my days." She couldn't see his face clearly through the dark tangle of hair that had fallen loose but, as her calloused hands moved near his throat, she noticed an embarrassed flush in his cheeks. She quickly forced her hair behind her ears and went back to untying the knot.

"Is that so Mr Baggins, and do you get many Trolls back home in the Shire?" To her surprise, and his too according to the slight raise in his eyebrows, an amused smile had spread across Bow's face as she pulled the cord finally free; her eyes had a cheeky sparkle to them and her round cheeks curled rosily up to her eyes. But then she turned away and the mask of impassiveness had returned.

Striding up the rocky hill, she cast her eyes about the horizon and took note of the scents of the wind and cloud formations: nothing detectable now and the sky was a calming light blue. The weather today would be nice and clear.

A rush of heat engulfed her body like a furnace. She could sense Thorin's presence like blood in the water, his powerful aura made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She subconsciously rested her hand over the handle of her hunting knife.

As she turned she noticed him stood behind her, studying her small, pale face. She looked up at him, having to tilt her head up to do so. He visibly swallowed, probably his pride, and addressed her in a clipped voice. "Saving Fili like that was a bold thing to do." He long shaggy hair was a messy tangle and lines were visible under his eyes and brow in the morning sun. But age only added to his powerful presence, Bow thought as he looked off into the distance, she did the same trying to ignore the powerful intimidation felt from his closeness.

"Don't worry you don't owe me anything." Bow's voice was quick and reassuring in a stern way. Dragging a hand through her hair she tucked it into the collar.

Thorin's head snapped to look at her in what looked like amazement or annoyance, she couldn't tell. "But as the heir of the house of Durin…"

"I am pledged to your service, it's my job to keep you and your kin safe." Exasperated and tired, Bow answered more sharply than she had meant to, then continued to gaze pensively off into horizon.

Dark circles under Bow's eyes and the sharpness of her nose and cheeks gave her face a harrowed look but her eyes still danced with stubbornness, Thorin thought after a moment of silence studying her profile.

"I'll have Gandalf have a look at you…" The anguished cry of Bilbo reverberated out of the ground. Both cursing in unison, Bow darted to the Hobbits aid with Thorin thundering behind.

Like a turtle when it gets stuck on its back , Bilbo was struggling in the muddy cave to right himself under the weight of his heavy pack. Little murmured cries of help rose out of the stinking cave, causing a few bats to escape into the sunlight. As Thorin and Bow skidded to a halt at the mouth of the dark cave, Kili and Fili stood arguing.

"No you made him fall in!" Fili cried shoving at his brothers shoulders.

"Well you pushed me!" Kili raged back shoving back at his brother.

"You should have caught him!" Fili snapping and shoving again.

"You should stop being such a orcwit!" Kili erupted and suddenly grabbed his brother's coat and pulled him close under his seething stare. Fili curiously just looked shocked at his brother's rage, his face a perfect mask of concern and bemusement.

"Enough! For Aüles sake, your behaviour is shameful, " Thorin boomed making the young dwarves jump in shock.

"Please can someone get me out of here. It smells like Trolls in here," the disgruntled voice of the Hobbit whimpered from the cave. Within moments Bow was being lowered into the dark cave with only the patching light from the service and Bilbo's beady little looking up at her.

As her feet landed with a puff of dust, the Hobbit's body collided with hers, using his pudgy little arms drawing her into a strong warm hug. The feel of his curly hair tickled under her chin as his head shivered into her chest.

"Oh Bow I was so scared." His little body was shaking violently. With an unsure grin she patted the little Hobbit on the head before quickly pulling him away from her body by the shoulders.

The cave was covered with dust and dirt and … worse. The skeletons of dead bats littered the uneven floor and the stench of Troll was almost suffocating. No wonder Bilbo was terrified.

From the corner of her eye, she caught the glimmer of silver reflecting on the cave walls. On closer inspection, littering the floor were objects of all shape and size buried under years of muck and decay. Bending down she wiped away some of the muck.

Still crouched on her haunches, hands resting on her knees she pivoted back to Bilbo.

"Climb up the rope Bilbo, then go get Thorin." Pitying the Hobbit she used a light tone and gave him a reassuring nod. She watched his little body scramble ungracefully up the rope before venturing deep within the cave.

Tentatively she sank further into the darkness but made sure she never lost the sunlight from the mouth of the cave. The ceiling sloped drastically downwards, and soon she had to stoop before brushing something that felt like a heap pile of dusty leather. She bent down and brushed her fingers along the filthy parcel, her nails leaving tracks in the dust.

Covered in old cobwebs, clustered tumbleweeds, and mulch was a delicately wrapped parcel. Lifting an arm length parcel she carried it back into the light. The others were sliding down into the now crowded cave and were examining the curious objects as she was. In the better light the leather was red and shiny with delicately tooled detail on around its wrapped edges. It was a basic wrist gauntlet with silver cord binding it. However, secreted away against the inside was a devilish razor sharp blade which sprung silently out at the slightest touch. An assassin's weapon, dangerous in closer quarters but nearly useless in pitched battle. But without merely a second thought she pulled the cords tight around her wrist and pulled her shirt down over it.

"This is Elvin weaponry," Balin commented next to her with interest as he examined an arrow head with interest. The dwarves around her were also donning new weapons with grins of glee. Unsheathing sparkling weapons that had been hidden for centuries in darkness, Bow could see the manic glint of greed in their eyes. Dwarves and their treasure, Bow thought dryly.

A sudden wave a cluastrophia rushed over her, in an attempt to stave of panic Bow elbowed her way past Bombur ,who was now digging a hole to bury his treasure, and scrambled up the rope out into the fresh air. From this advantage, they were looking down on the mountainside forest which slowly began to thin out as they would continue north. Steep cold mountain ranges rose up into the clouds ahead of them and flat moors lay beneath. They still had so many leagues to travel and so many dangers ahead.

Someone cleared their throat behind her, she jumped violently her hands whipping her knife out of the sheath violently. Fili was standing before her, his hands raised in a peaceful movement ,eyes staring in shock. Rubbing her tired eyes she released she had been staring at nothing for several moments. With a slight frown furrowing his brow Fili spoke; "You look tired." He said matter-of-factually with a lop sided grin.

"Sorry if we can't all look majestic all the time." She replied sarcastically, kicking at some mud.

Fili looked away with an absent glance, much like his uncle did, and held out his hand. "Here," he muttered thrusting his hands towards her. Within his grasp was a delicately coiled silver wire. Elvin wire was stronger than diamonds ; indestructible, forged from the heart of a fallen star. It was one of the strongest things known to man, elves or even dwarves. Fili was still looking into the distance as Bow cautiously took the wire from him.

"Thorin and Kili are sometimes difficult to understand but they have their reasons from the way they behave." If he was justifying their poor behaviour he was sure doing a poor job of it. His pale eyes fixed on hers glimmered with an intense sincerity.

"Do you love him?" The words were out of her mouth before she knew she had spoken. The Prince's eyes widened and his mouth opened in reply but nothing came out.

Words with the deepest meaning are always hardest to say.

Abruptly the warm of the morning was shattered by a chilling blood curdling growl. Rising over the apex of the massive boulder in front of her and behind Fili was an immense body of black matted fur and pearly white fangs. Claws carved grooves into the stone as it pulled its body high to leer down at her with its beady piggy little eyes. Its rippling muscles tensed as it launched itself over Fili, landing its dead weight on Bow chest.

For a sickening moment, teeth and claws were coming straight at her face, Bow flung body out of the way with all the force she could muster. The ground shook as the Warg landed but quick as a dart Bow wrenched her dagger free from the heel of her boot and sank the blade deep into the animal's neck. It let out a gurgled whine as blood spurted gushingly into Bow's eyes and down her front but she didn't care. Pressing her advantage she grabbed its ear and slit the creature's throat silencing it.

Within a few seconds Dwarves were everywhere in a frenzy of both fear and blood lust.

"Warg. Probably a scout for a hunting party," She heard herself say over the pounding of the blood in her ears. From experience, she knew her face was void of emotion and her voice cold. For what seemed like hours she heard words spoken but with no real comprehension until one word came into perfect clarity.

"Run." Thorin commanding voice was strong and stern, hurried by the adrenaline beginning to flow.

"No!" again she heard herself speak. "Let me take the ponies, their scent will draw them off." Amazed or infuriated Bow couldn't tell but Thorin's face was twisted in frustration as his head snapped at her, squaring his shoulders and body towards her menacingly.

" If you hadn't noticed Thorin they are tracking me. My smell will be enough to draw them away allowing you to make you escape!" Her voice hoarse she growled at the stubborn Dwarf through her teeth.

He studied her for a moment, then he spoke quietly and calmly. There was a hint of something else under his tone. "You gave your pledge to keep my kin safe. You cannot do that away from them."

For a second she looked at Thorin's uncompromisingly angular features, then around the Company, their faces a grim and pale. Her eyes settled on the Hobbit. He was white as a sheet, but he held his little dagger tightly and, puffing out his chest, gave her a determined nod. Bow shook her head at her with an angry snap at the idiocy of what she was about to do.

Letting out a violent curse, Bow grabbed Bilbo's bag, threw it on her back and charged off with the others sprinting to catch up. They were running for their lives with a pack of Wargs at their heels.


	5. Sands of Time- 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first flash back chapter- hold on to your hats x

Thorin leaned back on is chair and tried to suppress a yawn, the hard oak pressed into his back uncomfortably due to the hours of sitting. The council chamber was warm and stuffy, heated by a massive fireplace in the centre of the marble table; Thorin was slowly being lulled into a sleepy malaise. Rubbing at the tired irritation of his eyes, he ran a hand over his tired face, pulling at his beard in an attempt to keep himself awake.

The council meetings were only supposed to last an hour technically but they always ran late, this one was about to break an all time record. Five hours over schedule, lunch had been missed and supper was beginning to look doubtful.

His father was sitting to his left, sat stern and hard faced at the head of the table. The elders of Erebor talked of politics, the winter corn supply and yield, an increase in nomadic tribes and a new ventilation system for the deeper tunnels. But Thrain's face was still and impassively blank as he let the other Dwarves talk around him.

Encouraged by his grandfather, Thorin tried to make an increasing appearance in these meetings, although generally his mind was on other places, outside in the warm sunshine of Dale or walking along one of the many balustrades in the crisp morning air.

Against the murmuring of political talk, the halls large silver doors opened a little with a creek, allowing the noises of the mountain's buzzing atmosphere to drift in, before closing with a thud cutting them in silence.

White and pale, spooking from the darkness like a phantom, a small figure appeared behind Freorin's chair. Arching her body around over the table and filling his goblet from a large jewelled pitcher.

Her body was small, actually petite compared with other She-Dwarves. Although from what Thorin could make out at a distance, she had pleasing curves hidden under a plain leather bodice and pillowing white shirt with a dark green floor length skirt and apron. But what Thorin really couldn't keep his eyes off was her long dark hair as it patted the small of her back as she bustled her way around the table. Her eyes politely bowed staring at the floor, lowered in humble courtesy.

Like on the face of a clock the minutes ticked by and slowly but surely she made her way around the table of councillors until she was only two chairs away from Thorin. Visibly pale skinned, her jade eyes beamed under lashings of dark wavy hair, which was plaited and neatly pinned back with simple bronze clasps. Her dark sideburns were neatly braided and woven with a thin blue ribbon.

The simplicity of it: not plainness but natural. Thorin could barely hold himself straight in his chair as he gazed at the maid. This was how dwarves were intended to be without all the gaudy decoration they layered themselves in, as Aüle intended.

His mind was abruptly clouded with the smell of sage and cleanly pressed linen. In his moment of realisation he hadn't noticed she was now next to this chair and with a warm crush of fabric she reached forward and began to fill his cup. Inches from the hollow of her throat Thorin's eyes drank her in like a fine wine on a warm day.

On closer inspection she was white and ashen, slight bags purpling under her eyes, and her lips only the palest of pinks. Rosebud pink, plump and ready to be taken.

Twisting her lips into a slight wince, the maid gently set the pitcher down next to him, showing fingers worn red and weathered. Blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face, she rotated her hand as if getting a kink out her wrist, clenching her jaw and frowning as she did so.

Thorin's body made a jerking movement as he realised his body was leaning forward, hand seeking hers. With a cold chill of realisation he snatched back his hand and flung it down on the solid arm of his chair, making a deafening thwack! With echoed mockingly around the rafters of the room.

"You have something to say my Prince?" one of the council members who paused in mid sentenced asked with a raised eyebrow of surprise.

Thorin cleared his throat and shifted nervously, noticing the slightly lingering look of amusement and a suppressed smile that warmed the maid's features as she ducked away behind his chair and carried on her duties. Swallowing hard Thorin tried to push her from his mind and replied unconvincingly to his elder, "I just wanted to show my...support to you motion."

"You support the extension to the lower treasure chamber, very good milord." The elder confirmed and the notary took down the resolution, with mumbles of approval from around the room. And Thorin let out a steady breathe of relief as he gazed at the maid lingeringly as she closed the door behind her. Thorin tried to swallow his embarrassment, women never perplexed him no matter who they were, but this one deeply shaken him and would do for nights to come, her ghostly figure appearing to him in his most carnal of desires, it would haunt him day and night until fate brought them together again.  
***

His father had always been a distant man, pressure of politics and ruling the masses, would cause any dwarf to become despondent. But Thrain was empty, shallow; words seemed to have no or very little effect on him. Only the glimmer of gold could do that, gold was the only love of his life. Thorin suspected a depression after his mother had past but this was a complaint of the soul.

Thorin held himself tight against the shadows as the Kings guard did his father's bidding. Yes, gold was his father's only love now, even over his own people.

He closed his eyes and swallowed bile and guilt, pressing his body further in the wall behind him, as yet another family was ripped from their homes by the King's men. Thorin had to actually turn his face away when as a frail old Dwarf was thrown to the floor, the old Dwarf turned his body, hands outstretched and pleading "Please where are we to go? My family has lived in these halls for hundreds of generations. I'm sure there has been some kind of misunderstanding," His voice was paper thin, weak and shaking his hands shook as he pulled down on the guards tunic.

Strong and surly, the guard shoved the man away without remorse or pity, "Are you calling the King mistaken? That sounds like rebellion talk to me don't you think Funir?" He turned with a smile to his comrade and started to withdraw his sword.

Muscles tensed in anger, Thorin was about to slit the guards throat for the blasphemous use of his grandfather's name but suddenly out of the empting halls the phantom who had been haunting his dreams sprang forward, arms defiantly outstretched ,shielding the cowering man with her small body. She looked at them wildly, jaw clenched and challenging.

"Please!" her voice was strong but her eyes pleaded. "He means no harm. How can it be the King's wish to have people thrown out of their home without anytime to collect belongings or seek shelter elsewhere? Are your orders really to target old warriors who pledged their lives to King under the Mountain?" She demanded staring obstinately up at the largest guard holding his sword raised high.

"Another revolutionary, we know what to do with the pretty rebels like this one don't we Agmir," The smaller one had advanced now leering down at her with a smirk he viciously snatched a fistful of the women's braid and with a gasp of pain she sank to her knees as he twisted his fist tighter into her hair.

The guard froze as her felt Thorin's blade biting into his throat. Blinded with rage he'd moved without thinking. "Is it really my father's wish that you treat its honourable citizens like dogs, kicking them out into the cold?" His voice was barely audible growl in the soldiers' ear but everyone froze, too shocked to fully react. The Dwarf swallowed, his Adam's apple pressing against the blade, cold sweat growing on his brow.

"Milord we were only doing as commanded, the new extensions to the treasure vault mean that..." The other guard stammered but his words were cut off as Thorin pushed the Dwarfs body away from his, violated by a sudden rush of nausea.

"Clear out your barracks; make beds and hospitality available to all who need it." He barked commands at the guards who nodded hurriedly casting his eyes about the flame lit corridor; twenty families huddled together in silence, clinging to each other in support. They looked on at him with cold searching eyes.

"Lady," He let his blade lower itself to the floor as his eyes stared down at the She Dwarf in front of him. Lips parted slightly, her eyes were quivering jade fires of confusion, they searched his face but apart from a slight crinkle of the eyebrows his face was a mask of impassiveness.

Suddenly Thorin felt the gazes on him like a heavy burden or like rats in a sewer, it made his skin crawl.

"Go!" The Prince of Erebor is always respected; bystanders jumped at his bark and scuttled away quickly. The girl too, scrambled to leave but as she gathered her skirts, Thorin stopped her by grabbing a fistful of apron, suppressing the urge to pull her body against his, he merely held her in place.

Letting out a little gasp she whirled around, fumbling slightly, she curtsied, eyes down cast in respect. "Your majesty," Her voice was quiet, like honey running slowly through hot water. Thorin had to stifle a shiver that ran up his spine.

"Who are you?" it came out sterner than he intended, his nails bit into the palm as his tummy squirmed in nerves.

"I am Lifthrasir, daughter of Mimir but many simply call me Lif." Her penetrating eyes flicked nervously to his face and back down to the floor.

Thorin raised his eyebrows in surprise. He knew of Mimir, he'd fought with him even but Mimir was dead and gone. Having been the only one to speak about the dangers of the Akenstone, Mimir was exiled out of Erebor never to return, soon after he threw himself off one of the many battlements in disgrace and shame. But Thorin had been unaware of a daughter, let alone any children.

"And you desired to stay in Erebor even though your father..." He asked tentatively, wanting to gain further understanding of the women before him.

At the mention of her father her eyes blazed with passionate anger. "My father was wise and loyal and for all his loyalty to the throne he was rewarded with shame. I am the last of my father's name and I will not shrink in fear of retribution." Her face was a grim mask but flushed with a warming glow like she had been stood in front a furnace, she growled her words through clenched teeth.

Thorin actually smiled, unguardedly, Lif was refreshingly unmoved by Thorin's royal standing. "Then your courage does your house credit. Not many would have defended the vulnerable like you did." He tilted his head down slightly catching her eye, causing a little smile to warm her complexion. "Someone's got too" her eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Well you shouldn't have to. I do believe that's my job," Thorin chuckled unexpectedly, dragging a hand through his long black hair. "Will you go and join the others?" a mild sounding question but heavy with silent meaning for Thorin.

"No, I have no family; it would not be my place. I would not be welcome there." She said flatly, looking uneasily away down towards the flickering torch lights of the corridor.

"Stay with me," the words sprung from his mouth before he knew what he was truly saying but his body wanted to be near her so desperately and the need grew urgently with every waking second.

Lif's face was a perfect picture of shock, her mouth fumbling silently to form words. "My Lord, I don't even know you...you, you presume..." her face turned to revulsion and she began to back away from him.

Suddenly the penny dropped for Thorin and his cheeks burned red in embarrassment. "No! Aüle no, that's not what I meant. I was not asking you...you to be my love...mmistress, I swear on the Durin line. You are a stunning She Dwarf but..." He stopped talking and stewed in his mortification for a bit, looking from her defensive stance, down to his feet then up to meet her eyes. He also tried desperately not to think of the illicit images running through his head or how good it would feel to have her long hair tickling the length of his body. It was a herculean effort to think of anything but her.

His steady gaze was pale and cool under the flushed colour of his skin. In the flickering light, dressed in royal blue and standing nearly half a foot taller than her, Prince Thorin was both beautiful and chilling.

"A royal retainer who can speak frankly without any political ties would be of use to me." He stated plainly and without emotion.

Relaxing a little, Lif smiled challenging up at his face. "You wouldn't be popular in the court. It would be more respectable if I were something more acceptable to my station." Thorin nodded, the court could be a hot bed of gossip.

"If you are more comfortable, you may choose your own position. But we must be quick, supper will be served soon and it doesn't do well to anger my father." Thorin saw a flicker of fear pass over her face and in a rash movement he extended his hand and gently unravelled a braid that had come undone under the grip of the guard's paw.

Although an intermit and teasing movement, Lif didn't flinch away, she merely kept her face coolly titled up towards his. Thorin was in inner turmoil; her hair was like melting snow in the palm of his hand. Oh Damn Aüle, how his body ached to press his lips into her hair and caress the soft skin of her neck.

"You said I was stunning," she said mildly, her eyes taking in the Prince before her. The look on Thorin's face was unreadable, a quagmire of inner emotions played upon his face for only a second. He let his strong hand fall silently from her shoulder but retained his eye contact. Lif's eyes danced with different shades of spring green as she studied him.

He intrigued her and he hated her for making him want her even more. Suddenly he turned on his heel and marched in the other direction. "Come on! I cannot be late!" calling over his shoulder he worked away into the dim light while the heat of Lif's body pressed against him as she jogged to keep up.  
***

"Women grow cold Thorin." His father had preached this lesson to Thorin before, many times, and in fact he had heard it so many times that he knew what words were coming next.

"The warmth of a woman can only last through the nights, while gold will keep you warm for eternity." Thrain ran a long finger over the rim of his jewelled goblet, gazing down at the dazzling reflection that his hand made in its shiny service.

"Political alliances are how the line of Durin has grown so strong." His eyes looked up from his goblet with feverish intensity, quivering dull blue hidden slightly under hooded eyelids. "Love is the thing of elves and men, simple minded weaklings. The warmth of a She-Dwarves' thighs is only as good as the gold she brings to the table, do you hear me Thorin?" His old fragile frame turned back to his goblet and stared mesmerised at the precious metal. For his part Thorin sat silent, mulling in quiet resentment of his father's words. When he was a boy, he and his sister had been in awe of their mother and father's marriage, so full of love and life but after his mother's death Thorin had realised it was all a convenient sham. No love had conceived Dis or himself, they we're merely obligatory trophies to be hung on a shelf.

"Love is for weak men, small, pitiful men who let their cocks rule their body like an Orc controls a Warg." Thrain scoffed and slurped a mouthful of wine from his cup. Thorin clung white knuckled to the arms of his chair and listened in silence.

"Mark my words well son, love is not for the likes of us. We are made of stone, Dwarves with strong arms and cold hearts. The Kings of Erebor must endure and with it the great line of Durin, no matter the well- bred pig you have to ride to ensure it." Thrain's chalice now empty, he waved it blindly in the air for a refill, his words slightly slurred.

"The Arkenstone is the heart of the mountain and to keep the heart going we need royal blood, the thicker the better. Noble born and rich, wet with gold my boy! Wet with gold!" Thorin had only understood Thrain's crude words when he had reached maturity but even now the bitterness and screeched laughter as Thrain slapped Thorin on the back made his stomach flip with disgust.

Ignoring his father's raucous laughter, Thorin drained his goblet and refilled it and drained it again, a drunken stupor would be the only thing to stave of nightmares tonight; nightmares of what he may have to do to guarantee Durin's line.


	6. Teeth in the neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elves!

Teeth in the neck

The dry rasps of air escaping from her throat was all she could hear above the blood pounding in her ears, but really she couldn't think of anything above that, keeping her feet moving and the Hobbit's collar curled into her fist.

No matter how fast they ran- No matter how fast she ran, the black beasts kept coming. On the horizon they rose like a black tide of one of her nightmares. They came. The Warg pack was closing in.

In front of her, Dwalin was dragging Ori by the elbow, their brothers on either side of the two. Bow did a quick head count. On her right looking over the Hobbits sweaty curls she noted; Bifur and Bofur pulling Bombur's jiggling mass along, Oin and Gloin on their far side, and at the far front was Thorin Oakenshield beating their advance while the Warg pack fenced them in.

There was a familiar twang of bow strings and Bow had a stomach-turning realisation: the Wargs were in firing distance. She skidded to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust. Bilbo shouted at her but she ignored him.

Rapidly drawing her favourite varnished crossbow from her duffle; she began loading. Taking a deep breath, and grinning savagely, she aimed and firing in quick succession at the Wargs. Kili's face was grim, standing to her right. He was a good shot but was too quick on the release, Bow had always enjoyed the moment of ignorant blindness that overcame her targets as squeezed her trigger.

Aim, fire, repeat. It was her job and she was good at it. The body count was rising thick and fast and the red haze of blood lust was growing in her. But no matter how many volleys, no matter how many Kili and she took down, two more seemed to pop up in its place.

Suddenly, over the bone chilling howls, Fili's desperate cries behind them made Kili's posture falter and slacken. He started to run only turning back to grab her belt and pull her away.

Sprinting level with the two brothers, they soon caught up with the others. Taking a sharp right into a rock formation, Bow would have skidded of a steep ledge onto a grassy embankment underneath if Nori hadn't caught her elbow at the last second, roughly pulling her flat against the rock face. Much to Bow's annoyance. And there the Company stood, panting, red faced, and contemplating how close they were to death. They waited in silence, blood throbbing in their ears, trying to hear the smallest noise over the sound of their panting.

The Hobbit's hand latched itself around her wrist and making her face stern she turned her head to his fearful beady little eyes and raised a finger to her lips.

From above them rose a noise from the depths of hell. Curdling and freezing the blood in Bow's vein's, the Warg snarled, throwing the hot stench of its animal breathe down on them. Bilbo opened his mouth to whimper. No sound escaped, but his nails clawed painfully into Bows wrist.

To her left, Nori's body shifted, allowing her a little more breathing room, and in a black blur Kili's body sprung forward like a coiled spring, his arrow notched in readiness. From the protection of the sheltered rock face he launched himself into the eye line of the Warg and its Orc rider. Bow could see his hands tremble, the youth of his years shining and jaw clenched in determination, he let an arrow lose as the rider kicked his animal off the rock.

Too soon. Too soon, the arrow merely lodged itself in the Orc's shoulder plate making it release a hideous screech in pain, followed by a deep rumbling howl from the Warg's belly.

Two things happened at once: in Bows mind the scene played out. Before Bow could open her mouth to warn them .The young Dwarf would struggled backwards, fumbling to notch another arrow in time, the monstrous beast would sink his teeth into the Kili's torso with a sickening crack of ribs and muscle, shaking him savagely and tossing him high into the air like some rag doll. Thorin's screams of anguish and horror would be drowned out by his bloodlust as he charged, incensed with grief, Orcrist held high over his head, towards the murdering beast. The Beast would turn and in one fateful snap of its jaws take the King of the Mountains head from his shoulders, scarlet blood spurting wildly Thorin Oakenshield's body would fall limply to its knees and then into the pool of muddy blood left by nephews remains.

The Sight was rare and it came to Bow once in a blue moon but when it did she knew she had to act and fast. She felt her arms and legs moving, sluggishly at first, wrenching viciously at the Hobbits hold on her. She fell forward, in slow motion the shadow of the Warg crossed over her in the air, blocking out the sun for a moment, the earth shuddered as its colossal mass landed just yards in front of her. There was the twang! Of the arrow and screech of the Orc, arching its massive body and twisting its huge jaws into a snarl, the Warg bared down on Kili.

Bow moved without thinking, she planted her feet together and launched herself into the air, her body stretched out and arms raised lunging down on the Warg's broad back. The Orc's mouth was a mask of perfect surprise, his mouth a perfect "O" , screeching in shock as Bow's feet landed smartly on his shoulder blades flattening him against his Warg's neck. Stumbling barely for a moment she threw her arms over her head, letting the elfish wire slip between her fingers until both ends were held tight in her fists. The wire winked back at her as it flew through the air and tucked its self smartly under the animal's throat. Wrenching pain tore through her shoulder and her hands ran with scarlet blood as she ground her teeth and pulled the wire with all her might. The Warg's body shook and choked and the Orc squealed as Bow pushed her feet against his back. The wire sliced from the coarse wiry hair, then meat, then grinding against bone and, with a sickening sucking gurgle the weight of the lolling animal head pulled away from its neck, landing with a moist squelch in Kili's horrified lap.

Its body swayed for a moment before collapsing in a dead heap, dust rising from the blood stained grass. Steadying herself Bow clenched her jaw tight and let the wire slick with her blood slide out her hands. There were distant howls coming from over the horizon so, with an angry flick of her wrist, she stabbed the struggling Orc between the shoulder blades before withdrawing the blade back into her sleeve and sliding down the side of the stinking beast to the ground.

There was a whimpering moan from her left; Kili was trying to stand and kick the severed head away. Feverishly, face pale and sweaty, he wretched dryly into the grass on his hands and knees.

"Amateur," Bow said dryly shooting him a withering look before grabbing a handful of collar and pulling him to his feet. However he was abruptly pulled out of her grasp, Fili dragged Kili away holding his weight as he stared venomously at her. "You stay away from him, do you hear!" His tanned face contorted, pulling his eyebrows together and baring his teeth, he hissed at her.

"What are you..?" But then she saw it. The Dwarves face were masks of horror and distrust. Pale and repulsed. Even the great warrior Dwalin shifted his body nervously.

Looking to Thorin's gaze said it all. His steady eyes looked her up and down without blinking, though his body moved jerkily into a defensive fighting stance. Jaw clenched tightly and the muscles working in his face he ground words, "What kind of Dwarf are you?"

Bow opened her mouth and then closed it again; it was pointless to argue. She was used to this behaviour: Fear and suspicion always came before understanding.

Her fists tightened and her nails bit into her bleeding hands as she replied with gall. "For a King, you ask an awful lot of questions and don't know nearly enough answers. Are you always this clueless, or is it a hobby of yours?" Words dripping with sarcasm, Bow's lips curled as she marched through the group, eyes straight ahead. Throwing her abandoned duffle over her shoulder, ignoring the searing wet pain of her hands, she looked back at the group eyeing her and began to march.

As if on cue, the thundering sound of hooves chorused madly with the metallic clash of metal slightly further over the hill. And so the Dwarves very reluctantly followed suit, trailing behind her in a hurried scurry. Like most wizards, Gandalf seemed to pop out from nowhere and nonchantly began to hasten them down a hole which was nestled in a cradled rock face, much to the protests of the Dwarves.

Standing on the perimeter of the group, scanning watchfully the horizon as the sounds of battle drew ever nearer, realisation blasted into the fore front of Bow's mind, a memory rising up in the back her throat like vomit.

"This is the hidden gateway to Imladris!" She exclaimed at Gandalf, not really sure if she was asking or just thinking aloud. She couldn't fathom how fate would lead here a second time by similar sets of inconsequential accidents, but then again fate could be a bitch.

Suddenly Thorin shoved his way past her with a rough elbow, hard enough to make her shoulder twinge in pain, glaring up at Gandalf challengingly. "Imladris! Really Gandalf, after I specifically declared we would not be joining those Aüle forsaken elves in Rivendale." His voice was dangerous and his fierce look even more so. Gandalf stared down at the stubborn dwarf, daring him to continue. From out of nowhere. The sound of hooves and riders' calls were deafening. Gandalf barrelled into the mouth of the dark cave, with a stubborn curl of his lips, Thorin grabbed Bow by the belt and pulled her in after him.

The landing was surprisingly soft, until Bombur began to wriggle under her. With a hurried apology she tried to pull herself to her feet, only to be pulled and shaken in all directions by the great paw like hand of Thorin as he also tried to right himself.

Waiting for him to stand, she strengthened her back bone and tried to cool her temper, to little effect. "You may release me now." Cold and steely, her voice caused Ori in the corner to squeak.

"Not this side of Beleguar. You just decapitated a Warg with your bare hands, I want you where I can see you." Shaking her roughly, as if to emphasise his point, his voice was snide, cold and if anything cruel, which actually made Bow feel much better about what she was about to do. Without warning she grabbed him by the elbow and pulled his body down smartly on her knee. The air whooshed out of his lungs and his screamed in protest. His hands flew off her to clutch at his clamped stomach, his body he bent double holding his ribs.

If the Company were going to charge her, one frenzied glare put them in their place and they threw worried looks from Thorin to her. Adjusting her coat and pulling her belt tighter around her middle, Bow span on her heel and began the long journey into the narrow corridor of rock, in to which Gandalf had long disappeared.  
***

"Where in Aüle's name do you think you're going?" Though Thorin's voice lacked conviction, almost like he was to exasperated to challenge her but his tone was still harsh and brutal. Her body was almost lost in the dim light of the stone passage and yet her voice was strong and powerful.

"Apparently we're going to Rivendale Thorin Son of Thrain, or would you prefer we stop and ask for directions?" Without waiting for an answer she walked into the darkness. Soon after she felt the gentle tugging of Bilbo pinching at her sleeves and sounds of Dwarves following them in the distance.

"Do you really think the elves will help us, even after they didn't help Thorin at Erebor?" From the dim dankness of the tunnel, the Hobbit's eyes sparked with bravery and warmth, his voice was hopeful. Bow couldn't help but let some of her tension slip away.

"Well i'm almost sure Lord Elrond will be welcoming." She tried to be reassuring, but her tone was unconvincing.

"So you've met him before." Bilbo's was intrigued, noticing how Bow swallowed uncomfortably.

" I think so. The thing is, I make a habit of never going to a place twice, so events do blur together sometimes." Glancing through the dimness the Hobbit was visibly pale again. There was a cold gush of air and a chill soon caught their breath. Bow pulled up her fur hood against the cold while Bilbo wrapped his scarf around his neck again.

His eyes flicked at her as they walked in silence until nerves or curiosity, Bow couldn't tell, gave way. "So did Lord Elrond and yourself part in good faith or was it..."his hands made a fluttering movement over his jacket and indicated to her. Glancing down she noticed that once again she was covered from mouth to legs in blood. Again.

Running a tired hand through her tangled hair, she grinned devilishly down at the Hobbit.

"We'll have to wait and see, wont we." Leaving Bilbo gaping and the sound of the noisy Dwarves behind her, Bow ploughed into the darkness towards the towering halls of Rivendale


	7. Memories of Damson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash back chapter but of whom?

Memories of Damson

Her dreams were always cosy and comforting, but unrecognisable to her when she woke. They were homely, snug, wrapped in thick wool against someone's soft body. The images in her head were a confused mix of pictures- snapshots of fictional scenarios. Damson just thought it was wishful thinking, her mind trying to escape to a happy place.

Toasted almonds with a sweet herby mixture swam around her head. Damson would pretend she could feel the gentle fluff of lamb's wool blankets, the light thump of a heart beating next to her. She never saw any faces but there was always a constant sound running through her mind, a melody, light and pleasant. It was her melody, hers and hers alone.

Then she woke. Jerking her body out of her blankets, she shook herself awake, yawned, and started downstairs to get on with her morning chores. With the hearth cleaned and swept; she made a fresh fire and place a cauldron of water above it.

Morning light dawned through the murky windows of the tavern; she heard the soft shuffle and heavy methodical stamp of footsteps above. Mareak and Helga entered the kitchen a few minutes after, mumbling and groaning about their poor bones. They sat hunched by the fire, reaching out their withered hands towards the fire, while Damson spooned thick grey porridge into bowls for them.

The decades had not been kind, their withered bones and skin shrunk till it was leathery and wrinkled. Helga's hair had been a thick beehive of blonde locks, now it was wiry and grey. Mareak had gone bald years ago. Mareak and Helga had been pillars of the community, but as they got older and the threat of Orc attack steadily grew, they were viewed more and more apprehensively, as old mystics and eccentrics. But Laketown only had one tavern and the locals loved their home brewed mead. Over the fifty, maybe more years she had lived with them and they were now dying.

She didn't remember her younger days really, mermories were confused and muddled up unitl her twenty fifth year,when her beard had been cut, sickenly close with a straight razor. Even now she could still feel the ghost of it running over her skin. it had never grown back, much to Helga's relaief. But the story of her arrival in Laketown was infamous, turning almost into legend by mothers to children at night, it was whispered when bad omens arose and it was preached.

It had been weeks of bad omens. Birds fled on mass in every direction until the sky was a seething dark blanket of feathers, black smoke and ask blotted out the sun and frost covered the ground. It was a dark and stormy night, dogs howled and tugged on theirs chains, and a group of travellers pulled their hoods up against the howling gale. Stumbling in the mud towards, thunder rumbled and lightening cracked through the sky like shattering glass, suddenly silohetted against the bleak skyline a child dragged itself through the mud, the travellers watched in horror as the spectre drew closer. Pale and skeletal, covered in blood, its lips moved wordlessly, collapsing unconscious at their feet. It was there curse the gods had laid on them, Helga told her frequently, as the Travellers had placed her into her arms, running into the hills despite the bleak weather. The Gods had pushed her on them for reasons unknown, Damson was their burden to carry.

The Blood Oak tavern had been her home since that day. Day in and day out it was the same trudge and toil but she had food and shelter, she would not complain, she was lucky to have anything at all. She had been taken in and fed, clothed and housed, and all she had to do in return was work and care for Mareak and Helga as they aged.

The clock outside chimed as Damson began to stoke the fire in the main bar lounge, she wiped down tables and pulled back the shutters, letting dawn shine through the dirty windows. Patrons soon started to enter, hunkering down with their beer. Damson was still small and child like, only reaching 4 foot 4, she couldn't see over the counter, so Mareak still had to shuffle behind the bar pulling pints.

Laketown was a busy, traveller and traders were always calling; they were usually well mannered and talkative. Men mostly; that Damson had the problem with, it was bad weather and ill omens that brought the rumours and lies on. A group gathered in the corner, hunching over their glasses, their eyes glared up at her, as they murmured.

She was use to names whispered about her; the dwarf bastard, balrog slut, the cursed bitch. She'd heard them all. Sucking in a determined breath; she went to clear the men's table. Middle aged and grumpy, they stared icily at her as she approached. Damson reached for of a tankard, when a steely fist seized her wrist painfully like a vice.

"I'm not finished with that, Dwarf whore," the men growled, twisting her wrist and painfully pushing her away. Damson stumbled back, grabbing an empty table for stability; she curtsied to the men and fled. Mumbling at Mareak quietly, she hung up her apron and retreated into the deep wine cellar. She sat on the last step, steadying her nerves and trying in vain to hold back tears.

Growing up, Mareak had sent her out of view in an attempt to placate the customers. Given free reign of the town and the surrounding woodland, she ran through the trees until late at night, she actually enjoyed the days were she could let her mind wonder to the distant land of the elves or to the far west to the great sea that lay beyond.

Damson waited until she heard the noise of scuffling boots and the sharp crape of chair legs above to make her get back to work.

Later that evening, as the storm drew in, the fire crackled in the hearth as a few patrons finished their beers and left. Wind rattled the window panes as Damson wiped down the dirty beer stained tables.

"Damson, Don't forget to make sure the cellars door is barred tight, weather is a demon outside," His grizzled voice barked from the stairs. Shutting the shutters, she did one final check that everything was put away before heading down the corridor to her small dark bedroom.

Changing into her thin white shift nightgown and settling in the snug nest of blankets that made up her bad. Rubbing her bare feet together for warmth, she yawned and tried to drift off to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come; it hardly ever did at first. The house creaked above her and mixed with murmurs of the wind outside. The only way to sleep was to allow her mind to sink into the faint stillness of her dreams and her imagination, humming her lullaby softly as she snuggled deeper into her blankets, gradually drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

During these pleasant dreams, her world started to constrict around her, narrowing and distorting until she awoke with a rakish gasp escaping from her lungs. It felt like someone was stamping on her lungs, pain and lack of air scratched the inside of her windpipe. She pressed her face against the wooden floor in a desperate attempt to find air. The world was thick with clogging acid smoke, which blinded her and choked her; she went stumbling to her feet, colliding with foreign objects that she couldn't make out.

She was moving dragging herself, tripping, stumbling, falling but always moving. In front of her eyes the world was fire, scorching her skin, she searched desperately for an inch that wasn't a flame. There! The cellar door was open and clear. Throwing her unwilling body towards the dark abyss of the cellar, enjoying the soothing coolness to her lungs for a moment, the stairs down rose to meet her and her ribs collided with each one. Leaving a resounding crack, echoing in her ears, but she didn't care she didn't realise. Fingers tearing, nails torn, she scrambled madly, savagely for the cellar door that she had forgotten to lock.

Spilling out into the night, lying in the warm mud of the street and fire flickering off its water logged service. Mud soaked into her clothes and hair as she pressed her face into its cooling wetness, rising to her hands and knees she listened. Screams of anguish rang through the air, saturating even the smoke filled sky, making tears spill down her ash covered shaking face. Against the dark and the smoke and the flames, children were screaming. Torturous and hoarse and desperate; Damson crawled trying to reach them. Maddened with fear, Damson would never forget them and in all her days to come she wouldn't sleep one night without hearing them scream in her skull.

All around her flames licking at the rafters, they spilled from the windows and out into the street. And suddenly she was thrown backwards as the windows exploded from the Blood Oak, throwing her backwards in a surged of burning ash and timber, sending shards of glass high into the air. Under the roar of them inferno were the gurgled screams of Mareak and Helga- Damson could smell their flesh as it burned.

There was movement to her left and as rise looked, rising from the acid smoke and flying debris; silhouetted against the flickering skyline a huge white Orc bellowed and raged in blood lust at the sky, raising its ugly bloodies hands and muzzle, snarling a terrible war cry and shaking a chilling blade over his head. She would remember that face, contorted snarl, the blood of her neighbour's smeared over his hands. In the murky dimness their eyes met for a second, pits of fire glared into her and in that moment she took a silent vow. A vow of retribution; she would live on, she would fight and she would never forget the White Orc in the smoke.  
***

Deep voices shouted and muddy boots squelched in the quagmire of mud, bandaged forelegs impeded her gaze as she exhausted body sagged.

"And what if they return?" One voice shouted louder than the others, other murmured in agreement, nodding their heads and shifting their bodies.

The only ones left alive, the only ones who hide well enough or who could run faster than the person beside them. A hotchpotch of wiry survivors made up a town council in the cities square, smoke lazily rising from ruined houses under the light patter of rain.

Laketown didn't have fighters anymore: merely survivors.

"Orc's always return, always want more, more gold, more blood, more of our blood!" the man's voiced paused while the crowd shouted agreement. "How many children's lives have been taken by Orc blades? Ever since the high King Thror fell from the gods grace at Erebor the Orc's have multiplied, growing in strength and number that will soon surpass our own," These were old words to a new tune. Terrified men looked at their wives and daughters, fear in their eyes.

Suddenly a hushed silence fell over them, from the inner circle of jostling bodies, the Crone- now the only remaining village elder- hobbled into the circle.

With shaking hands, she threw bone runes into the air, racking her long yellow nails down her arms until she drew blood. "The gods seek vengeance on us. The Dwarves of Erebor thought that their Aüle and Malal weren't as good as their Arkenstone. For their greed and vanity they were smited!" her voice rose shrilly with raucous agreement of the crowd. They never spoke of Erebor or its lost Dwarves, it was considered bad luck. If Damson had been in any fit mental state she would have been listening intently, but as it was she was curled in a ball, rocking gently in the mud: humming her lullaby.

"But why do they still target us?" a faceless voice called out with nods of agreement. The Crone cast her eyes about, her hands outstretched, as if trying to feel for the answer.

Her face was a wrinkled bag of leather, haggard and thin with grief, her cold sunken eyes suddenly halted in front of Damson. And under the weight of the old hag's gaze, damson lifted her head. The Crone sucked in a breath through her papery lips. Pointing with a withered sausage finger, she mumbled words, repeating them until they grew to a steady crescendo.

"The Dwarf Bastard, One of Durin's People, One of Erebor!" the followers began to chant now, a mindless drone, their eyes cast unseeingly down at her. Mad hands grabbed her and hauled her to her feet, propelling her forward by the back of the neck. She sprawled in the mud as the Crone screeched for rope and fire. Before Damson knew what was happening, she was lifted, kicking and screaming with all her might, but rope now bite into her wrists, wood and kindly piling around her.

She looked like a baby bird wriggling in a nest. Gagged and bound, all her shout were muffled by fabric and the horde terrible chanting.

Suddenly out of the flickering darkness, torch light blinded her and above her the Crone's face appeared, and leaning down she pressed her wrinkled wet mouth to her forehead as Damson tried to wrench herself from the Crone's touch.

"Your mother was the whore of Erebor and you shall be punished for hers and your peoples crimes," Standing tall again, she raised her hand for silence. A fist sized lump rose in her throat as tears welled in her eyes and she let out a fry painful sob. Her mother... Secrecy and mysticism passed down in Laketown tradition dictated that an orphans parents should not be spoken of, even if they had known who they were, lest it call their vengeful spirits into being.

"As the dragon burned and set Erebor ablaze with fire from his belly. So shall this child, anointed with fire, her blood and bone will pay homage to the land and pacify the gods!"

The rest of Damson's life was hinged on these next seconds. She "Saw" her flesh melting from her bones and the smell of the smoke and her baking fat. Long after the morning came, her body would be left for wild dogs and crows to peck over; her body would go unburied and her spirit left to wonder the wilderness alone forever.

But they had given her a fire within her, hotter and brighter than any flame, they had given her a purpose for surviving. Erebor. The name beat along with her heart. She fought, her body fought to stay conscious against the smoke and rope. Her bonds ripped at her skin until it was torn and dangled in a mass of blood and mud from her wrists. Fire burnt her hair, making her eyes water from its acid smell, sticking to the back of her throat.

Screaming against her gag at the demons surrounding her, who lurked behind the wall of flame, with herculean effort she wrenched her body against the rope at a wild attempt at freedom.

In the future Damson wouldn't believe in gods or miracles but this was surely both, the ropes gave way, as if all fibre had been lost into the air around her.

Tumbling in a whoosh! Of air and all consuming heat, Damson rolled her body through the fray of fire. And then she was running blindly. Using the last of her strength concentrating on exhaling and inhaling; keeping her legs moving underneath her, running into the wild black waste lands, out stumbling into the night, leaving the crumbling town behind her.

She kept herself moving, pushing pain from her mind. Survival was more important. Adrenaline and fear can make people into animals, and that's what Damson became, animal instinct to survive. Instinct to forget the pain, forget the words running over and over in her mind, forget the ghosts in the flickering firelight, save the One who she had sworn a blood oath to kill. Instinct to just simple forget the past.  
***  
The last of her strength had gone hours ago, in the dim dawn light, she crawled now: hands and knees, she crawled until she could crawl no more. The bloody trail behind her would be easy for any dogs, easier still for Orc's. All her fight would be in vain.

Falling; she expected hard stone but silvery coolness engulfed her and rocked her to sleep, melody soothing her wounds.

Falling; succumbing to sleep and falling lifelessly into the freezing waters. She fell head first into the rushing river, strewn with ice and leaves; her unconscious body was swept away into the mountain wilderness.


	8. Darkshines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit non cannon bit hey ho x

Darkshines

Rivendale was a cornucopia of tall towers and spiral staircases bathed in the dewy autumn sunshine of the midmorning sun. Babbling brooks were dressed in golden leaves and dramatically carved bridges of white stone. Everything Thorin could see of Rivendale appeared elegant, graceful in the elven style. It was beautiful.

Thorin swallowed that bitterness that rose in his throat. Erebor was lovelier, brighter with less ceremony, and more contentment. The elves were laughing at them, laughing down at their misfortune.

More than half a dozen times, his legs stopped moving, wanting nothing more than to turn and sprint in the opposite direction, but he didn't. With silent resentment he trudged over the sweeping paths and bridges with knuckles clenched white, keeping one eye on the tiny figure leading the Company.

Thorin swallowed a curse. Damn her to Aüle, why did she have to make everything so difficult? He could understand her indifference and her short temper, but such rage; such savagery. What could cause such an appetite for bloodlust? Looking down at the severed Warg's head, her face was almost inhuman, like killing had been a triviality of life, meaningless and hollow. He wouldn't mind her rage that much if she followed his orders like the others, but no! She had to make things difficult.

But now, as the Company rounded into a large walled garden which stood at the base of the main archway into Rivendale, Bow laid a reassuring hand in the Hobbit's elbow, who gazed from her to Gandalf for reassurance. She obviously cared for the little creature, showed him a compassion that she wouldn't let the others see. She had risked her life numerous times in order to protect Durin's people, she had pledged herself and her sword into his service, but as Thorin studied the back of her tenacious body, her head and face hidden under a thick fur hood; she was even more of an enigma now than when they had met on the fateful night in the forest.

The cool chill of adrenaline and panic ran over Thorin as clattering of hooves rose in his ears to a deafening din. They were all well practiced in battle formations and formed a circular barricade, deadly against Calvary. The Company pushed Thorin and his nephews into the middle of the huddle, weapons pointed out like the spines of a hedgehog, as a dozen mounted elves surrounded them , peering down at them with pompous self-importance and cold resentment.

A tall elf dismounted from a large brown horse and stood for a moment speaking quietly in elvish to Gandalf. He was tall, even for an elf. Slender in body, his forehead was crowned with a simple circle of silver, straight dark brown hair tucked neatly behind his pointed ears. His majestic demeanour and elegant baring was not lost on any off the Dwarves, for it was clear who this elf was. Lord Elrond of Rivendale was famous not matter which social circles you walked in.

From within the huddle Thorin saw Bow try to push impatiently past the protective bulk of Dwalin's body, only to have a steely hand clamp over her mouth, pulling her body back towards him, with a muscled arm wrapped solidly across her shoulders.

"Don't you be moving. These elves'll kill you just for looking at them in the wrong way," he growled in her ear protectively, strengthening his hold as she struggled violently. Any other dwarf they would have been warmed by Dwalin's over protective nature, but Bow was not any other dwarf. Dwalin tensed and growled slightly as Lord Elrond stood staring down at them, curiosity twisting his wise features. Thorin tried to push his way towards them, anxiety for his comrades prickling his skin, but even more so for Bow's volatile, unpredictable behaviour {yet his body was held in place} his nephews' uneasy postures and defensive bodies appeared, holding him still.

"Gracious! My lady Grey it has been a long time. What brings you to Imladris again and in such… diverse company?" Lord Elrond spoke with genuine yet guarded surprise as he chose his words carefully, eyeing the clustered Dwarves with their weapons at the ready. Dwalin let out a pained rasp as Bow bit into his fingers and sank her elbow into his ribs. Stumbling free, Bow stood before Lord Elrond and, even though he knelt before her, she had to tilt her head to meet his ancient eyes. He extended his warm hand and wiping her bloody palm against her trouser leg, she allowed him to kiss her knuckles. Before snatching her hand back and letting it rest comfortably on the hilt of her knife, jaw defiantly tilted just out of plain stubbornness.

"Lord Elrond, it has been too long. I hope our unexpected arrival hasn't created any inconvenience for you." Standing on ceremony and politeness had never been her strong suit; it made her words cold and more clipped than usual. She cringed inwardly as she felt the astonished stares of the Dwarves to her right burrow into her flesh.

"Your visits are always an unexpected delight. Estel still speaks about you, he will be delighted when he learns you are here. But we may catch up later. For now I am most intrigued by your comrades that Mithandir speaks most highly of." Lord Elrond smiled fondly at the thought of Estel's joy of having his oldest friend back in Rivendale, but as he rose, he merely gazed down at the bewildered dwarves in amusement.

After an awkward moment of silence, Bow cleared her throat and prepared to introduce the eagle to the serpent. "Lord Elrond, may I introduce Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, King under the mountain." She spoke in hushed tones; the King's presence spoke louder than any words ever could. The crowd of warrior dwarves parted in the wake of their King, his chest tensed and tight, as his cold eyes roamed up and down the elf's form, judging him and visibly documenting his weaknesses.

Lord Elrond shot a surprised glance down at Bow who kept her eyes adverted in embarrassment at the King's poor behaviour. "Well Milady you do keep illustrations company." Turning his eyes back to Thorin. "Thorin Oakenshield, I am pleased to meet you. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain." Bow could see that it was an effort to make his voice light and welcoming. She knew from experience never to anger an elf; it could be the last thing you ever do.

Thorin's head bowed slightly than rose to meet Elrond's challengingly and spoke with cold sarcasm dripping from his words: "Indeed? Because he made no mention of you." His words provoked no emotion of Elrond's face, but Bow could see a thick vein starting to throb in the elf's hair line.

Suddenly mad laughter erupted violently from Bow, shaking her body. The surrounding company, Lord Elrond and his elves included, gaped at her as her body bent in two, shaking fiercely under the force of her peeling laughter which echoed off the surrounding buildings.

Pausing to wipe a tear away she spoke, " Oh please excuse us! It's common for dwarves and Hobbit's alike to grow cantankerous when hungry. May we prevail on you for hospitality before Bilbo here faints from exhaustion?" Shooting a silencing glance at Thorin's cold stubbornly blue eyes, she slapped Bilbo on the back, pushing him in front of Elrond's giant body.

As she had correctly predicted, the tension of Lord Elrond's body drained away as he looked upon the fearful figure bowing before him. And before she knew it, they were being whisked away into the inner sanctum of the palace. Thorin waited for the elves to disappear, roughly grabbing Bow by the collar of her jacket, and dragging her into a darkened alcove.

"What in Malal's name was that?" his voice was a low growl and his face so close that she could feel his salt and pepper hair on her face, the smell of cider and maple packed her senses. In response Bow let out and exasperated breathe that she hadn't realised she'd been holding. Gripping his wrists tightly, she pulled them from her collar.

"You know I am really getting tired by being man handled like this," she said with false light-heartedness. But Thorin remained still, his searching blue eyes cold and calculating.

"You never mentioned you were friends with elves." It was a statement, simple and stern but his words were thick with accusation, eyes flickering across her features, studying her.

"Well actually I forgot," She stepped away from him out into the hallway, suddenly uneasy by his closeness. Bow plastered a smirking grin on her face. "Besides, you never asked. Anyway you could still walk out of here, you know. Maybe without your dignity and pride, or without a full belly; it's your choice. " She turned away walking slowly towards the main chamber where the rest of the company were gathered. The sound of heavy footsteps followed quickly behind her. Thorin and she walked side by side for a moment until he shot her a sideways glance.

"Lady Grey?" he asked simply an amused smirk playing on his lips, his body had lost some of its tension.

"An alias, nothing more." Her voice was clipped again and stern.

"Do you need many aliases?" Thorin spoke with a light voice filled with amused surprise.

"As many as I need to survive," she said dryly, impatiently brushing a lock of hair from her face. They turned a sharp left and continued down towards the sound of raucous voice of their comrades. Thorin paused slightly, before he spoke again, he choose his words carefully as not to offend,.

"Lord Elrond spoke of an Estel, is he your elf spouse?" He made his voice sound light and mild. Bow's lips twisted into a thin line of disgust and Thorin couldn't help but grin with relieved sincerity.

"Elf husband! Really Thorin, I know you think little of me but that was low," she tutted, shaking her head in mock anger.

"I only wanted to make sure you had your priorities in order." Thorin retorted with visible relief. To his surprise Bow to spoke, a small nostalgic smile playing of her lips.

"No, Estel was a boy I found alone in the wilderness some years ago . I placed him safely into Lord Elrond's care," she stated unimportantly, dragging a hand through her hair, as if saving a child was nothing at all. It surprised Thorin, dwarf children were prised and protected above all other things. To leave him in the care of others and to think little of it was alien. But then again, Thorin thought dryly, maybe she didn't know any better.

Speaking of the past was always draining and a sudden wave of exhaustion overwhelmed, realising she hadn't actually slept since BagEnd. They reached the great chamber door and she held it open for Thorin.

"No doubt Lord Elrond will provide you with food, I will attend later," she said barely fending off the drooping of her eyelids. She didn't bother waiting for a response. Shutting the door on Thorin's disgruntled complaint, she went to find somewhere to catch a few minutes sleep.  
****

There were many balconies and verandas in Rivendale, so finding a warm seat bathed in afternoon sun was not difficult. Bow flung herself down on a window seat, surrounded by pillows and closed her eyes, enjoying the cool breeze from the open window and the sunshine warming her clothes. Before even a minute had passed, she was in a sweet dreamless sleep.

She had only meant to dose for half an hour or so but, by the time her eyes fluttered open, the sun was setting over the distant tree tops and the air had a cooled to a tepid temperature. As she became more aware of her senses, she heard faint ruffles of fabric and felt the slight movements of someone near her. She sat up quickly, hearing the person next to her gasp in surprise.

"Oh Grey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Peering with curiously pale eyes, Estel was sat next to her, his youthful frame tense with concern. Half a bandage lay unravelled on his lap, the half was wrapped neatly around her damaged palms. The shivering little babe she had left behind had changed much in the passing years. Shoulder length wavy hair brushed the nape of his neck and , much to Bow's relief, his face was cheery and merry, not solemn like the other elves. His body appeared strong and well built, a flush of pink rose on his tanned skin.

Bow actually beamed, an ache growing in her chest and a lump rising in her throat. She said nothing. She couldn't think of any words to say so she pulled him into a bone crushing hug. His head automatically fit into the nook of her collar bone and Bow pressed her lips into his soft baby hair, breathing in smell of soap and clean linen.

"It has been too long." She felt his lips move against her shoulder and she hummed in agreement. Pulling back she looked down at his flushed complexion.

"I know, time got away from me a bit. And you know better than any how...complicated life can be." She knew he would understand, through the months he had travelled with her, her ward had been nothing but a good listener. Bow's heart had truly broken when they had accidently found the secret passage in Imaldris and Elrond had offered to care for him. Her life was too uncertain, too dangerous to bring up any child, and that way he would still have a chance at normality.

"But you are here now and that is all that matters. And you brought dwarves with you!" His merry eyes beamed at her but his words brought the world crashing about her ears. She cursed loudly, ignoring Estel's embarrassed giggle from her swear words.

"Damn, I completely forgot about my dwarves," She continued, throwing back the blanket that had been placed over her and jumping hurriedly to her feet.

"Your dwarves?" Estel gaped at her in astonishment. Bow beamed at him, her eyes crinkling, and her cheeks still pink and rosy from sleep.

"Yes my dwarves. Would you like to meet them?" She held out her hand and abruptly laced his fingers with hers. They ran hand in hand, laughing with wild abandon, as they once did so long ago.

The Company had been lounging on thick blankets and fine pillows for some hours now, served with fruit and wine, Bilbo appeared to be the only one enjoying himself. The Dwarves for the most part were aloof and quiet, grumbling about their surroundings as much as they did the company.

Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin had disappeared for a private audience with Lord Elrond for an hour or so before returning and being called into dinner. They assembled themselves around a long table, facing a veranda. Lord Elrond at the head of the table, looking stiff but welcoming; Thorin on his left looking equally uncomfortable. Gandalf, meanwhile, appeared wonderfully oblivious to all the awkwardness going on around him, mildly puffing at his pipe continuously.

Bow was still nowhere to be found but, as Bofur voiced his concerns to the rest of the Company, Dwalin merely growled, "Let the elves have her," as he rubbed his bitten hand venomously.

"Do not worry friends. I am told she will be along presently," Lord Elrond's voice called over the table and, as if on cue, Bow rushed through the door face, merrily red and panting with a shoulder high boy following at her heels. Although they grinned conspiringly at each other, Bow's face solemnised slightly, calming, but still pleasant and warm.

The boy walked close to her side and Bow pointed, naming ever dwarf as they worked their way to the head of the table. Attendants pulled out chairs for them opposite Balin and Thorin and on the right of Lord Elrond, and the boy thanked them in elvish as they sat.

"And this is the wise dwarf Balin son of Fundin, Gandalf the Grey you are familiar with..."The boy grinned broadly bowing at Gandalf, who chuckled and winked knowingly, and then bowed respectfully to Balin, who mildly nodded his grey head. "...and this is Prince Thorin Oakenshield." Her hand hovered in mid air as she indicated to the King but her eyes watched Estel's reaction with amusement. His eyes went wide enough to see the whites, darting from Bow to Thorin, and his mouth tried to gape and grin at the same time.

Gandalf nearly choked on his pipe as he roared in booming laughter at the young boys amusing features. Bow had to swallow a chuckle behind her hand and Thorin grinned into his goblet.

To Bow's surprise, Thorin finished his mouthful and spoke to the boy. "You must be Estel, Bow speaks highly of you." He wasn't smiling but his voice was light and his eyes twinkled. Estel stopped gawking long enough to close his mouth and frown questionily at Bow.

"Bow?" he asked her unsure, eyes quivering slightly as he looked up at her.

"He means me little one." The smile returned on Estel's face as he replied. "Yes I am Estel of Rivendale, ward of Lord Elrond."

Before Thorin could reply good naturedly, Lord Elrond interrupted from the head of the table. "Yes, young sir and you should be finishing your supper. Or do I have to send you away without any." He scolded lightly, but Estel took him seriously enough, turning his attention down to the heap of salad on his plate.

"I must say lass, it is a nice change to see you being so pleasant. We were starting to have doubts about ya'." Balin smiled warmly at her from over the table, others {most loudly Kili and Fili} cheered in agreement.

"But Grey is always pleasant when she's with me!" Estel burst out, grabbing her arm and snuggling into her body. She forgot her company for a split second and just enjoyed the closeness with her little friend for a moment, cupping the nape his neck with her bandaged palm she pressed her lips into his hair, and then nipped at the top of his ear with her teeth, making him giggle and pull away laughing. Smiling lazily down at him, Bow ran and hand through his soft brown hair in an attempt to flatten it, before turning back to her plate of untouched food.

Suddenly from across the table a hush frenzied words full of anxiety caught her attention. Jerking her head up, she watched Balin lay a hand questioningly on Thorin's arm. And Bow could see why; Thorin was as grey as marble, his frame coiled tense like a spring. He stared right into her eyes, like a cold morning sun peaking over a frozen ice cap, something dawned on his face and his mouth fell open slightly. But in a matter of seconds it was gone. All emotion swallowed up as he turned his body towards Balin's worried gaze. "Just Durin's hunger. Lack of meat will do that to a dwarf," his words were quiet and reassuring, Balin accepted them, patting his arm and turning away.

Thorin was quiet for the rest of the evening, and Bow tried to enjoy the remaining hours with Estel, but the King's confused face haunted her whenever she closed her eyes. It soon came to the end of the evening when the empty plates and bowls had been cleaned away and the Company sat chatting quietly, telling stories. Until Estel's body slumped against hers, his breathing deep and content in sleep.

"Please excuse me gentleman." She nodded to Lord Elrond, who smiled and nodded. Making sure not to shift his body too much, Bow got to her feet and pulled him upright. Swaying lightly and mumbling under his breath, Bow half walked, half pulled him along, her hands struggling to hold him up by the waist. They made it to just outside the door, when a gruff voice and heavy footsteps, stopped her.

"Give him here." Thorin stood before her, large and imposing, but before she could protest, he took the boy under the armpits and flung him roughly over his shoulder. It appeared he was a heavy sleeper for, even pressed against Thorin's armoured shoulder, he began to snore lightly. Bow was actually a little relieve; her palms and shoulder were throbbing under his weight. They walked in contented silence, Bow checking on the sleeping Estel every so often, until they reached his room and Thorin unceremoniously flung him on the bed.

"Let me have a minute." She arranged Estel's little frame under the covers of his bed and brushed hair out of his face, her words soft as not to wake him. For a second, she thought Thorin hadn't heard, until the door latch clicked shut. She pulled the soft blankets under his chin and he murmured in his sleep.

"You'll be gone by the morning, wont you?" His voice was thick and sleepy and he shifted a little to hold onto her hand. Bow swallowed a lump in her throat and looked away guiltily.

"Yes probably so," she murmured, smiling despite her pain as his eyelashes quivered a little against his cheek.

"Why?" his voice was growing far and distant now, finally succumbing to the oblivion of sleep.

"Because the dwarves need their home back and I need to find where mine is, but don't worry I'll be with you, even if you can't see me." She pressed her lips to his forehead and breathed in his sweet aroma. When she was at the door she paused, turning sadly, needing one last look at her little friend. The gentle figure rolled over in contented slumber, and she shut the door carefully behind her, pressing the door against her back to fortify herself for a moment.

To her surprise, Thorin was still waiting, his body leaning casually against the opposite of the hallway, eyes studying the floor idly. Upon hearing the door clink shut behind Bow, his azure gaze rose to hers and with a jerk of his strong bearded chin, they walked away from Estel's room. Bow didn't like the weighty silence that hung between them: If he wanted to wrap her in cotton wool because he thought she needed space to lament, than he certainly had the wrong dwarf.

"I presume you've plotted a course through the mountains." Her was word were sharp and stern, Thorin arched his eyebrow and withdrew a map from the inside of his shirt, passing it to her without any word. As they walked, Bow studied it silently; the matchstick markings making her eyes ache painfully.

"No, you shouldn't take this pass-" she traced the red line over a steep valley with her finger; she had travelled that road once, and once was enough for her- "...the path is too worn and dangerous, and besides the Goblin King has scouts watching it." Looking back to the King, Bow could see he was frowning at the paper.

"And what do you suggest then? There are no other feasible ways through the mountains," he snapped in frustration, stopping abruptly to placing his hands on his hips.

"Take the high mountain pass," Bow added in exasperation, turning back to him and indicating on the map. Thorin let out a snort of derision and marched quickly past her, so she had to jog a little to keep up. "It will be longer and there is a threat of snow storms this time of year but..." He paused slightly to turn and look at her wildly, with a glint in his eye. "But guaranteed no goblins," she finished, watching the King's face carefully. He glanced away, chewing his lip for a moment and tugging at his beard slightly.

"Time is something we now have little of, we shall take my original route," his voice was lightly commanding but had a hint of tiredness to it. They had stopped walking now, the corridor had opened up into a great balcony, the moon and stars just beginning to shine in the night sky. As Thorin gazed calmly out at them, he rested his hands on the balustrade.

"Well if that is your decision, I will meet you in three days time, north of the Gladden fields," she said matter-of-factly, straightening her spine against the seething glare that Thorin shot her, "I told you back in the Shire that I didn't go through the mountain passes. I use ways which you and your company cannot follow." She shrugged her shoulders and swept a hand through her taffled hair.

"You seek to abandon us, even after you pledged your allegiance to me. You're as bad as any Elf," he growled with malice and spite, looking down at her with revulsion.

She silenced him with a cold glare that would have made even Dwalin shudder; Thorin merely clenched his jaw in stubbornness. "Curse Aüle! Why do men not listen? I am not abandoning you or your group of fool hardy warriors!" She let her angry tide of words echo around the chamber before continuing. "I travel my own paths for reasons you cannot even begin to fathom, which I might add, I do reluctantly but as I have a group of half wits to watch over, I suppose I have to. Why, I hear you ask? Because I gave my pledge and it's my duty. Now as I have much farther to go and less time to do it in, I bid you good evening Thorin Oakenshield." Her words danced from her tongue and settled in the air. Thorin's eyes were narrowed and his nostrils flared in anger, but Bow didn't wait around for the angry barrage of words.

Turning on her heel, she marched off towards the store rooms, and confronted a harassed looking elf, demanding provisions for her journey. In the dark mood she was in, no one questioned her, so when she demanded clean clothing and water, Bow washed and changed at her leisure. Then, donning her clothes and duffle bag, now heavy with supplies, she started on the road out of Rivendale.

She looked back only once, memorising the gentle rise and fall of the hills and the way the moonlight hit the pale buildings. Bow didn't regret her angry words to Thorin. Her only regret was that her short visit with Estel may well be her last.

Swallowing the fear and anxiety that rose in her belly, she turned and stared up at the cold grey colossal mountains before. She marched up into the cloud bank, tucking her hair back into her collar.


	9. Outlaws and Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl has had many names over the years, but that doesn't make her who she is. Warrior, Dwarf, loner... the label only makes up a small part of her destiny and who she will eventually become.

Outlaws and amnesia

Cogs whirled and snapped, ticking over with slight metallic clicks. Springs contracted and steam whistled, hitch pitched and echoing. The internal clock works pause for a moment, cold and metal. They calculate. Silent they gauge. The engine and the gears of the human body waited, listening to the unsettling silence.

The blood wasn't pumping. The main pump had stopped.

Suddenly the gears, cogs, springs and metallic devices whirled and fizzed with mad energy. The pump contracted, red muscle contracting- her life blood flowed again.

Her eyes slammed themselves open, dim sunlight scorching her pupils, tears cascading down her face. Her eyesight was blurred, fuzzy and painfully strained. Her neck and shoulders arched back in a huge inward heave, sucking in one world-swallowing gulp of air. Raw oxygen and the smell of dry mud stuck to the back of her sore throat, snagging and sending rasping coughs through her body. She choked and spat through heaves and gasps, her body rejecting the thick bile in the back of her throat.

Body shaking from lack of air and the violence of too much air, she was knocked sprawling, the floor tilting dangerously underneath her hands. Her vision doubled and swam, hazardously close to collapsing. She pursed her lips and blew air out, and then in: stable breaths, hands digging into dusty ground to steady her body.

The world began to appear, made of a patchwork of white splotches and shadows, it was a haze of greens and browns, it grew solid, giving her a shaky sense of balance: she gingerly pushed herself to her feet, her cold bare feet skidding slightly on the gravel. Sharp stones under her and the light lapping of waves on a shore, grass land covered the horizon as far as she could see.

All of a sudden the air was knocked out of her aching lungs, as freezing water collided with her face, she gasped as her face stung with unpleasant tingles.

" Alive are ya? Was gonna leave your scrawny bag of bones for the vultures, Oh well I suppose they'll feast on someone else's innards, " A croaky voice spoke, his words were cold and brutal. Wiping her drenched brunette hair out of her eyes and off her face, she looked at the tall imposing figure standing before her.

A human man, stood tall enough to cast a long shadow over her; his back to the sun, she had trouble seeing his feature in the bright light. He shifted his position slightly to place the empty bucket on the ground and crossed his hands over his chest looking down at her. His face was grim, thin and drawn, cheeks shallow and pointed, with his bones pressing tightly against his sickly weather beaten skin. His eyes were black and empty, partially hidden under his hooded eyelids. His lips were thin and wormy, disappearing entirely as he pulled his mouth into a hard smile.

Abruptly he extended his arm and flung his weather beaten cape elaborately behind him, lowering into a mocking bow, which looked awkward for his too long body and broad chest. "My lady, you must be in shock, the cold water has robbed you of your wits but certainly not of your beauty. If I hadn't have pulled you out I'm sure your fair face would have been lost to the underworld," He met her eyes and winked at a poor attempt at charm. "So let me introduce myself, I am Smike Darkwheat of Barkwater. But Smike will do just as be fine," one the service his words sounded charming and inviting but she could see the grin of his mouth didn't reach his flinty eyes. He paused for a moment before righting himself to his full height and peering at her disgruntled.

"What's you name?" he demanded in the common tongue. He frowned slightly and repeated the words in another language, which was velvety and elaborate. But the girl merely stood, shivering slightly, her arms wrapped around her freezing body, very aware of her drenched white shift nightgown clinging to her shivering body in the cold fresh breeze and bare feet.

"Are you a deaf, can you speak?" His voice was callous with severity and mirth and all the false charm gone from his voice; he flashed his yellow teeth in his too broad smile.

The girl opened her mouth as if to talk, but closed it quickly, swallowing and she nodded at him. The man let out a booming laugh, dead and icy, it echoed around the water's edge and of the boulders.

"A mute ! Just my luck, do you know which mountain you're from Dwarf or are you a midget from the loins of men?" He stepped forward and shook her violently by the shoulders, his voice cruel with amused.

She shook her head again, her face meek with terror as she stared at the man's unpleasant face, nausea swimming over her as she smelt hard liquor on his moist breath, which clung to the skin of her cheek. He pulled away from his vicious grip and withdrew a hipflask from the inside of his shabby leather jacket.

"You're saying you have no kin, no family, not even an owner that I can claim a reward from?" exasperated he huffed, grabbing at her wrists, ignoring her sudden grimace in pain. It was the first time she noticed her injures, her wrists had stopped bleeding, but brown blood coated them like sticky ooze. The flesh on her hands and forearms was hot and inflamed, her breathe hitched in pain as the throbbing ache began to register. At his question she shook her head slightly, trying to fend off the nausea rising in her throat.

Suddenly and without warning he dug his nail viciously into her ruined flash, the girl had to bite the inside of her mouth to stop from crying out. Smike's face contorted into a sneer, his eyes darting over her face, enjoying her silent pain. "How do I know your really a mute, you could have been sent to spy on me or to slit my throat in the dead of night. Do you sing little bird?" he growled, digging his nail in, eventually letting go with a merciless twist.

Why would people be looking for him? The girl pondered, pushing all the pain to the back of her mind.

The man growled, finally confident that no one would bother to send such a pitiful girl to execute him in the night: and poured searing liquor over her weeping injuries. She recoiled in pain the man's angry gaze turned up to her, the sneer of his face was shattered, replaced with a crazed snarl.

"Don't you dare wriggle, you're lucky I'm wasting good liquor on you anyway. I was in half a mind to let it fester," He shoved her hands away from him with a maniac glint in his eyes, taking the last sip of alcohol for himself.

He turned away and placing a hand on his back, stooped to collect his duffle bag, growling slightly under his breath as he did so. Turning back to where she stood uncertainly shivering, he let his gaze crawl up and down her small body for a moment, running his tongue over his thin wormy lips. His eyes inched over her puckered flesh, studying it with chilling intent.

The seconds, maybe minutes wasted away until the girl could almost feel the pounding silence in her ears. His surgical glare made her sag and recoil away from him like a whipping dog.

"I am a Ranger and the Ranger's code states "a life for a life,". And as apparently you have no family to pay for my kindness, we shall have to find another way of compensation. I saved your life now you owe me a debt of servitude. Understand?" When he finally spoke his stern voice gave little comfort. He pointed one long thin finger at her face, narrowing his dark eyes as she nodded silently.

"You have nowhere to go, nowhere to shelter, nowhere to turn for comfort and in this environment..." his tone was mocking and matter of fact as he looked her up and down once again, "... you wouldn't survive the night."

With a satisfied grin and a stiff nod, he withdrew a tattered cloak and a thin pair of summer boats from his pack and threw them to her. The cloak smelt musty but it was warm, the shoes were far too big but they were better than having sharp rocks sticking into her feet.

He pulled the leather strap tight again and held it out to her, wincing through clenched teeth she took the heavy duffle bag and placed it on her shoulder, nodding at him with silently acceptance. With a cold smirk he turned and marched away into the wilderness.

She paused for a moment, glancing around at the emptiness of her surroundings; it was all barren waste land. What choice did she have but to follow...

"If you make me wait, I will leave you for the Warg to feed on," Smike's voice drifted up over the heath and with a start the girl jogged after him as fast as her aching muscles would allow.


	10. Sands of Time: Damnation and Bookends

The house of Durin had been one of the first rooms to be carved out of the mountain and as such was probably the biggest and the most grand. Self contained, it was free from the noises of the outside world, its marble halls quiet and peaceful: a calming place to think.

At its centre was one large whining spiral stair case that led up from the servant's quarters at the very bottom, to his Grandfathers chambers at the top. The Kings rooms looked out over the highest peaks of Erebor: down on Dale from a massive balcony and stained glass windows. Underneath that was his father's bed chambers and study, another two floors were taken up with a guest floor and a private parlour that was rarely used and underneath that was the children's floor.

Set aside for the adolescents of the house, it had its own private entrance way that was only ever used by Dis, Frerin or Thorin, as a way to avoid prying eyes. On this floor the three bedrooms surrounded a large marble hallway that was heated by one large blazing fireplace, this hallway then led to the Durin's private library. The three bedrooms were identical, all including a small sitting area, ensuite and individual balcony that looked out over the valley.

Though these rooms were lavish and beautiful, Dis and Frerin usually spent their nights elsewhere. At this very moment Frerin was probably laying in a warm bed, enjoying the company of one of his many lady friends. Dis on the other hand preferred to stay at one of her ladies in waiting home. She preferred the warm and friendly atmosphere, homely and cheerful, as opposed to cold and inhospitable. Thorin couldn't blame her; it was like living in a mausoleum, but with a royal attendant to check on him before he went to sleep and when he woke up, he couldn't see any way out of it. As the heir to Erebor, he was stuck where he was.

And at that moment, Thorin was trapped going through the autumn grain invoice for the coming winter. He let out a long loud yawn, rubbing his tired eyes that had started to ache in the flickering fire light of the library, and poured another mug of fine apple cider. He was about to give up trawling through the never ending pages of numbers when the heavy library door creaked open, casting light over the floor, before a small figure pushed through the crack, closing it behind them with a thud.

Thorin watched silently from the shadows, as the figure stumbled about in the dark, trying to find a candle.

"Holy fucking Aüle!" there was a heavy thunk, and Lif's voice cursed wildly, kicking back at whatever she'd stubbed her toe on.

Thorin sat frozen in the darkness, thoughts and emotions whirling through his head. He hadn't seen Lif for almost a week, taking every precaution to avoid her, he slept late and worked late into the night everyday and purposefully missed meals just to avoid another embarrassing scene like the one in the council chamber.

Suddenly a flame flickered to life in the far corner of the room, eliminating at countless shelves of worn leather bound book and rows of old parchment, they rose high from floor to ceiling, layered thick with dust over the ages.

Now with the lit candle in hand, Thorin could see Lif clearly as she moved, although her body was slightly hidden by one of the many large wooden desks that sat opposite Thorin, her shirt and apron were wrinkled and dusty, with muddy wet patches on her knees. Her hair and beard too were dishevelled: with wispy baby hairs pulled free of their braids and curling around her tired face.

Placing the candle stick on the forth shelf up, she picked up a book in the crook of her arm and reached across the desk for another one. She jumped violently in surprise as she saw him hiding in the shadows, letting the books fall from her hands. Cursing under her breath, she hastily picked them from the floor, standing up she curtsied a little. Clearing her throat a little, she addressed him.

"I am very sorry to disturb you my Lord; I didn't think anyone would be in here this time of night. Please excuse the intrusion," she stumble over her words and bowed her head on apology, making hurriedly for the door.

Before he knew what he was doing, Thorin was up on his feet, striding towards her, fighting to stop himself a metre or so away.

"Why are you up so late? Usually the other attendants have gone to bed hours ago," his deep voice was rich and mild, but his mere presence and aura demanded respect and showed his authority. In the flickering light where Thorin now stood, flames danced in his wavy dark curls and deepened the rich blue fabric of his tunic. Lif shuffled her feet awkwardly before answering him.

"I still have some chores that need to be done before the morning; I didn't feel right just leaving them," her voice was filled with earnest, her frown and lips drew together in determination. Thorin had to hide grin of amusement.

"What's so important that it keeps you from your bed?" Again Thorin's mouth betrayed him, and he had swallowed his frustration at himself. Well, for one thing, he sure knew what was keeping him from his bed; it was pale determined Dwarf in front of him. And the worst was she had no idea.

She gestured over her shoulder with her hand and shrugged a little, as she gave explanation "Well King Thror was entertaining Lord Vanir this evening and the banquet was long, so it took us a long time..." Thorin interpreted suddenly, disbelief and irritation making his voice harsher than he intended.

"You mean you're still working as a maid?" He couldn't believe this women's gumption, many couldn't take being a royal assistant let alone holding another job on top of that.

He studied her pale face and worn clothes, her folded hands looked red and sore, and realisation dawned on him. Lif nodded back at the Prince, her green eyes twinkling merrily, unbeknownst of his inner turmoil.

He looked away quickly and cleared the lump in his throat. If he had his way, he'd wrap her in silk sheets and drape her body with jewels, a woman like her should not be forced to work her fingers to the bone.

Thorin tilted his face to the fire and studied it before speaking. "Do you not enjoy it here?" his words came out thick and ineloquent, not that Lif noticed, she started to move, collecting books that had been left out on the table and putting them back in their rightful place. But was careful to show Thorin the respect he deserved, and kept her eyes on him, twisting her head over her shoulder.

"No no, not at all I love it here. I've met some... interesting people and the staff library is wonderful but...but I just like to work," she smiled at him before struggling to put a heavy book on a high shelf, hoping that the Prince wouldn't notice her momentary lapse of politeness; her colleagues in the servants quarters were snooty gits, but truly the staff library was excellent.

A fiery warmth spread through Thorin's chest like warm brandy at her words, he marched over to her, and tried to take the book from her hands. Enjoying the surprising heat radiating off her, the smell of crushed almonds that made his head swim, and the faint rustle of her skirt brushing against his legs. He fought every fibre of his being not to moan at the closeness of her.

Lif hadn't heard him move and gasped a little when a pair of large hands tugged at the book, she quickly let go and nodded her head in thanks. She turned back to the stack, picking up another to pass to him, while he effortlessly placed the heavy book on the shelf above, as if it was lighter than air.

"You shouldn't work so much, you'll make yourself ill," he chastised, taking the next book from her hands, he avoided her clear green eyes as they watched his movements with interest.

"But I like to work," she replied mildly, handing him yet another book.

"Yes, but not this late at night," he grabbed the book in one hand and gently took hold of her small hands with the other, casting a disapproving eye over the sore redness of her knuckles and blisters on her fingers . Lif watched a tick start in his jaw, before she answered.

"Not to be impertinent but, it appears I'm not the only one burn the midnight oil, am I?" She smiled up at him, her loose braids letting dark hair fall over her eyes.

Thorin's fingers itched to brush them away, but he retreated quickly, letting her small hand fall and withdrawing his body to the other side of the desk. His body calling physically out to be near her again, every fibre of his body needed her to be close.

Lif dropped her eyes, pressing her lips together, brushing dust from her hands, she made for the door. Her palm rested on the cool wood for a second as she turned back to Thorin. His arms were resting against the fire place, his face tilted down, studying the fire which danced and flickered in his brooding blue eyes. Lif watched him, mesmerised by the tightness of the muscles in his back and the thick rope like arms that just begged to be touched.

She looked away quickly, swallowing embarrassment and raising a hand to cool her burning skin. Taking a long deep breath, she turned back to the Prince.

"Goodnight My Lord Thorin, please try and get some sleep tonight," Lif inclined her head and then turned to the door.

Thorin's voice echoed, loud and clear, making her body shiver at his masculine voice. "Wait! I have a job for you."

Lif turned back in surprise. Thorin's body was still facing the fire but now his eyes were closed and his chin tucked against his chest, dark hair hanging beside his face, light dancing off the waves.

She waited for him to continue.

"Tomorrow morning, prepare my paper work and take notes for my meetings throughout the day. Meet me in the hallway at nine. One of the other servants will find you my schedule. That will be all." His tone was clipped and harsh, so cold that Lif had to stop herself physically recoiling. The charming dwarf with a pleasantly deep voice was gone, replacing him with this poorly built stone replica. But his tone was final and it was clear she been excused.

And with a final rustle of fabric and the gentle thud of the door closing, she was gone. Thorin let of a long painful breath, a lump weighing in his throat, his knuckles clenched white as held the marble fireplace like a life line.

It had to be done. No matter how many times he told himself, it still didn't make him feel better.  
***  
The other servants had proved very unhelpful when she asked for Prince Thorin's schedule. They whispered behind her back and sent her on wild goose chases. In the end she was given a scrap of tattered paper, covered in illegible scrawl and abbreviations. So she'd spent the night trying to decode the writing, had missed breakfast and was now sprinting up the spiral staircase, hair still damp from the bath, towards the Thorin's hallway.

She skidded on the smooth marble as she rounded the corner, coming face to face with the young Prince, who did not look pleased to be kept waiting. Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the door frame of the library.

In truth she was actually perfectly on time, but Thorin must have been one of those people who were always early and never late. Lif made a mental note of this.

"You are late," his cold tone cut through her like a hot knife through butter. His body was tensed like a hunting predator, dangerous and lethal. Lif struggled to level her breathing.

"I am sorry My Lord," she didn't meet his eye but kept her head tilted to the floor. Above her, she Thorin's footsteps approach her a little and he cleared his throat.

"Very well, I suppose on your first day, we can make allowances," clipped and short, she sensed he was deeply irritated. He began to make for the door; she followed him but nearly ploughed into the back of him when he stopped abruptly.

"What's my first meeting?" he didn't meet her eyes, merely tilting his head over his shoulder a little, an annoyed tick started to appear in his jaw. Panic swept over her as she fumbled with the crumbling paper.

"Umm...it's..." she peered and squinted at the terrible handwriting, tilting the paper away in the hope that it might become easier to read.

"What is that?" Thorin had whirled round and was now starring with bewilderment at the tattered paper.

"It's your schedule..." her voice trailed off as his posture straightened and changed, a darkness falling over his features.

"There should be a better copy than that, one I had written specifically out," Thorin stated with no emotion in his words. Lif licked her dry lips and shifted uncomfortably, cold sweat coating the back of her neck.

"This is the only copy I was given, I could go check with the other..." Lif fumbled for words but Thorin interrupted her.

"No that won't be necessary, I can probably remember it," and with that he marched off down the hallway, striding so fast that she had to actually jog to keep up.

Well that didn't go well, but least today can't get any worse, Lif thought dryly, walking in Prince Thorin's wake as the crowd parted for him down the busy passageways.

Oh, if only she knew how wrong she was.  
***  
In truth the morning had proved to be very dull and boring, they went from meeting to meeting, talking with one stuffy politician then another, one stifling council room to another council room. Lunch time had come and gone, she was sitting in the corner of a private study taking notes, tummy clenched to suppress a crumble, jaw clenched to suppress a yawn.

Thorin sat opposite an elderly dwarf was had spoke for the last hour and a half about the importance of bees in the upper masonry. For the Prince's part he appeared attentive but Lif could tell be his glazed eyes that he was bored out of his mind.

It was another half hour before they were free, Thorin said his polite goodbyes and they walked through the halls back to the royal house. The halls were quiet because everyone was either taking a midday nap away from the afternoon heat or was having a late lunch.

Lif would have gladly chosen either. She merely rubbed her eyes trying to wake herself up, concentrated on the floor and keeping her feet moving.

"Why are you shaking you head?" Thorin asked, his eyebrow rose as he looked down at her. She hadn't realised she'd moved, but she had been rather deep in thought to realise. Lif started with surprise, it appeared to her, the prince only spoke when the mood took him. For example this morning he'd not said a word outside the lobby but in the library had been positively talkative in comparison.

"I was just thinking that I don't envy you. People say they'd love to be royal all the time, but you have so much pressure on your shoulders, I don't know how you handle it," she shot him a sideways glance, her lips pressed into an frank smile, he met her eyes for the briefest of seconds then looked away, down the long empty hallway.

She stopped suddenly and turned to him, her hands making fluttering flustered gestures.

"Forgive me My Lord, I spoke to plainly. What I meant to say is..." she looked for the right words but gave up and said whatever popped into her head. "Don't you ever get bored talking about...bees for hours?"

Thorin's face was impassive for a moment, calm and unnerving, Lif prepared herself for the angry tide of words to wash over her. She strengthened her spine and clenched her fists in preparation for Thorin's anger but it never came. Instead booming laughter, loud and merry filled the hallway, echoing off the high stone arched and around her head making her feel dizzy. Thorin's cheeks had turned an earthy red and his eyes had gained a surprising twinkle. His grin was broad and welcoming. But more surprising to Lif was that it was rare; she had never seen him so...animated.

"I ask myself the same thing every day, but it is welcoming to finally hear it out loud," his laugh subsided but he chuckled to himself every now and then.

They entered through the secret side passage doorway and climbed up the spiral staircase to Thorin's room. They didn't speak anymore, but we're both contented with the comfortable silence that fell over them.

As they entered the hallway Thorin stopped in front of his door and laid a hand on its silver handle. Thorin looked back at her, pressed his lips together and nodded his head approvingly.

"I shall write my notes up for you; will that be all My Prince?" Lif shuffled her feet for a moment before bowing her head and turning to retreat down the spiral staircase.

Suddenly and without warning, the hallway doors were thrown open and a tall warrior dwarf marched in. Dwalin, son of Fundin, was a terrifying figure, his eyes glinted and his Mohican was cropped short.

"Thorin, there has been a raid on Laketown and reports state the Orc pack are coming west to flank Dale too," Dwalin's words seemed to ignite a fire in Thorin, he sprang forward and grabbed his friend by the elbow.

"Call out the guard; I want a hunting party assembled by the hour!" there was angry passion in his words, but Bow could see the grin playing on his lips.

"Ah! Not a hunting party, it'll be filled with young Nancy boys trying to prove their worth," Dwalin let out a disgusted laugh filled with mirth as he made back for the door. Thorin wrenched open his door and laughed at his friend.

"We were those boys once, remember!" He retreated into his room, his laughter still drifting out. Dwalin was about to go through the door when he saw Lif and he let out an excited curse.

"Liftrasir! I haven't seen you in ages, where you been hiding?" He ran to her and caught her in a big bone crunching hug. They had played together as children, running wild through the passageways like street urchins. They had fought and wrestled, right up until Dwalin had hit puberty, Lif had been able to pin him to the ground and tickle him till he cried and begged for mercy. But his father had become wealthy and there family had moved away from the poorer houses, to somewhere more respectable. They still saw each other on occasion, drinking and fighting so much that more times than she could count, she'd had to carry the unconscious dwarf home.

"I work here now, I think I'm Thorin's assistant though I'm not entirely sure?" she grumbled and smirked, tugging at the warrior dwarfs beard.

"His assistant! Poor you, he'll work you into the ground," He let out a warm chuckle of laughter, and placed a massive paw on her shoulder, shaking her entire body.

"You coming with the hunting party?" his eyes sparkled at the thought of a good fight.

"Well I couldn't let you go and get your ass kicked now, could I?" She punched him hard, but playfully, in the chest. She darted away before he could react. She flung her body over the rail and slid down the banister to the servant's quarters.

Oh how she loved a good brawl!

Dwalin's gruff but excited voice drifted down the staircase. "I'll see you in an hour then!"

"Not if I see you first!" She shouted back, too much adrenaline running through her veins to care that the other servants were giving her disapproving looks.  
***  
The main stable was a hive of activity, the sounds of snorting horses, desperate wives, and rallying war cries danced off the rafters like a the gods themselves were stamping their feet in preparation for battle to commence.

Thorin ran down the last set of stairs, tying the last clasp of his mail and tugging his belt tight, enjoying the familiar weight of his sword tugging at his hip. As he entered a roudy cheer went up and dwarves on all side came to slap him on the back. He would have been swamped if Dwalin hadn't been there to push back his over-eager comrades.

"Glad to see you're joining us, thought you'd forgotten," Dwalin chucked, holding the reins of Thorin's stallion as the Prince mounted.

"A Prince never forgets Dwalin. I was merely biding my time," Thorin retorted as he settled himself in the saddle. Dwalin mounted a stout brown pony next to him, placing his war hammer and axe safely on the saddle but still in grabbing distance, with an excited nod turned and grinned at his friend. Thorin nodded back and was about sound the battle horn when a familiar voice caught Dwalin's and his attention, both moved close to watch the action unfold.

"What do you mean no!? Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do, I am the Prince's personal assistant, so if you make me late, pray that Aüle is feeling merciful! Now give me a damn horse" Lif's angry words rose up from the far end of the stable. As Dwalin and Thorin moved closer, they could see Lif and the Stable Master going toe to toe, angry snarls on their faces as they glared at each other. The Stable Master was a large and stocky dwarf, with a massive beard of black curls and plaited hair, he looked formidable but Lif's anger was even more formidable than his appearance. Thorin had to give it to her; the She-dwarf had balls.

"Prince Thorin wouldn't touch a traitorous cow like you even if it meant he had to bed a Balrog, now out of my way woman, I am busy!" The Stable Master screamed in her face, turning red at the beard in rage.

"Woman, is that meant to be an insult?" Lif challenged, notably placing a hand on the hilt of her sword that hung from her hip, it was long and vicious, serrated teeth on one edge glinted evilly in the afternoon sunlight.

"No but your presence here is, now get your traitorous whore cunt out of my stable yard!" the stable master grabbed a handful of Lif's leather jerkin and shoved her away hard. She stumbled but caught herself, straightening, she set her jaw defiantly, but Thorin still noticed that colour had drained from her face and her nails were digging into her hand.

Thorin itched to slit the dwarf's throat, but he kept his voice steely and calm, although it took all his self control not to jump of his horse and pummel the man into the ground. And judging by the growl that erupted from deep within Dwalin's chest, he knew his friend felt the same.

"Master of horse what exactly is the probably here?" Thorin's tone sent shards of ice into the man's bones, whirling to face Thorin, he bowed low, nearly head butting the ground before straightening to answer the question.

"This woman was demanding a horse..." He glanced back at Lif was distain and disgust before turning his gaze back to Thorin, but before the man could continue, Thorin questioned Lif.

It wasn't so much that there was a woman demanding a horse, countless She-Dwarfs were armed and mounted in the hunting party, but it just so happened that this woman had a bad reputation.

"And why would you be needing a horse Lif?" his bad mood melted away when he saw the colour blossom in her face again. In response to his question, she shrugged and adjusted her leather shoulder guards.

"Well, you did say to follow you "throughout the day," so I was merely following orders. And besides I can't let you and Dwalin have all the fun," she grinned and shot her friend a challenging look. The Stable Master gawked at her with disbelief and Thorin gaped at Dwalin who merely grinned down at Lif.

"You know her?" Thorin asked Dwalin incredulously, unable to stop his mouth hanging open.

"Sure, we was youngun's together, used to run bloody riot when we was kids," he smiled and shrugged, jabbing his thumb in Lif's direction.

Thorin would corner his friend later, but now there were more pressing matters to attend to, he turned back to the idiot Stable Master.

"Give her a horse," he commanded, not bothering to keep any friendliness in his tone. The Stable Master visibly paled and waved his hand at one of his minions who ran off to fetch a horse. But the Stable Master was less than happy, he pulled fretfully at his beard.

"But My Prince, do you really want to take her with you? I mean, you know she's a daughter of a traitor," his eyes flicked nervously over to Lif as if she was some dangerous animal, and he moved one step away.

Anger rose in Thorin again and he unleashed a torrent of words. " I would take her over you any day, little man! And be careful when you use the word "traitor", for its ignorant men like you who make her father out to be something he is not," Thorin's chest rose and fell rapidly, and his lips curled into a dangerous snarl.

A young boy arrived dragging a dappled pony behind him, and without a word Lif mounted and cantered off, eager to get some air. Embarrassment, she was used to it, it's what came of having a disgraced name but what Thorin had done, he'd defended her but not only her, her father and even more importantly, her father's memory. Mimir had given his life in the protection of the royal house of Erebor and now they were repaying the debt by giving rebuilding her father into the great man he had been. And to Lif, this was the greatest treasure of all.

Now outside, Lif sucked in fresh cool air, calming herself and trying to steady her shaking hands.

Back inside, just as the battle horn sounded and the hunting party began to filter out, Dwalin turned round in his saddle and shot the Stable Master such a glare that it froze the blood in the man's vein.

"If I ever hear you speak to anyone as rudely ever again, you have my word and solemn vow that I'll split you in two and use you as bookends. Is that understood?" If words could kill the Stable Master would have collapsed then a there. But to Dwalin's amerce satisfaction, dark wetness spilled down the other man's trousers. The Stable Master may not have collapsed but he was certainly pissing his pants.**

The hunting party stopped before they reached the apex of Dale hill by early afternoon, the sun just edging towards the western horizon as the day drew on. Thorin's black stallion snorted and nudged at Lif's mare, as Dwalin, Thorin and Lif stood at the head of the group, studying the terrain of the valley underneath, being careful not to be seen from below. But more importantly, studying the temerpory camp that the Orc's had made, sheltering from the burning sun.

The Orc pack were hiding in a small nest of trees, maybe two miles out of Dale, some smoke rose from the dense foliage but nothing to give a clear indication of the number of Orcs.

"We should outflank them, use a pincer movement to cut off their escape, " Thorin suggested, making note of the vulnerable position that the Orc's had placed themselves in with their backs to a steep rock outcrop. He was about to shout orders when Lif interrupted suddenly, taking him and Dwalin off guard.

"I disagree, that's what they want us to do, that's what their expecting from us. We should fake an attack, lure them out like the venomous snakes they are," Lif's eyes danced with anticipation and a warm blush spread over her cheeks.

If Thorin hadn't had other matters to attend to, he would have sat and stared at her all day. For once, her hair was tied tightly back, curled into a tight plait, then pinned into a bun, and all the thin green ribbons removed from her beard. Her armour was relatively simple for a dwarf, basically made up of a thick leather jerkin and green leather breaches, her arms were covered by a silver and green shoulder guards inlaid with a simple geometric design and chainmail made of silvery scales which ended in an pair of gauntlets. They appeared too big for her, but she'd stuffed wadding underneath so they didn't slip and slid. She wore no helmet.

Thorin looked reluctantly away from Lif, to Dwalin who nodded his said a little, as he contemplated her words. "I do see the logic, it can't hurt."

Thorin swallowed and ground his teeth in annoyance. "Very well, I'll go in with the first group, watch for my signal," and without another word, he indicated to maybe ten riders to follow him, before riding out down the valley.

Lif watched, heart in her mouth, as the rode out at the head of the small group. His head was held high and his long black hair flowed behind him like a cape made of obsidian fire. Lif had never seen him looking so majestic, the warrior looked as much at home as the dwarf did. Riding into the fray of battle he looked beautiful and deadly.

Lif peeked her head over the edge to check their progress, she clenched the hilt of Demon as tight as she could, tension and adrenaline making the hair on her arms stick up.

"Don't worry he'll be fine," Dwalin had fought with the Prince countless times and knew that he was flawless in battle.

"How can you be so sure?" The other riders around them shuffled with agitation, so Lif lowered her voice , leaning closer to talk to her old friend.

"Because he's got something to fight for, you don't know him like I do, I've seen the way he looks at..." Dwalin never finished his sentence, for a screeching cry pierced the air as the Orc pack charged on the little group.

The bottom dropped out of Lif's stomach at the chilling sight below them. Thirty Warg riders were advancing, but nearly double the amount to Wargs were running riderless, looking to make a quick snack out of her Prince.

She let out a savage battle cry and charged into the fight, Dwalin's horse pressing closely at her side, he too letting out a deafening roar, with of the hunting party following from their example.

Galloping as fast she her pony could, she collided with the front ranks of the Wargs, slashing at snout and stabbing at its hearts. Another pounced at her left, grabbing her ponies head in its jaws, Lif was thrown to the ground. Though the pony was now dead and headless, she avenged it, sinking her blade in the Warg's spine. It twitched once and collapsed.

With the thunder of hooves, she whirled and threw her body aside as the rest of the hunting party joined. Dwarves, Wargs and Orcs tangled together in a mad frenzy. Screams and curses clogged the air until all Lif could hear was the clash and clang of metal and armour, as she ran through the hordes, slitting throats and skewering with her deadly blade. For a second she could see Dwalin atop a stack of corpses, knocking in dozens of skulls with each swing of his war hammer.

Suddenly a piercing scream from a horse caught her attention, she skidded to a stop, stabbing an Orc in the gut while she did so, and ran towards the scream. Her heart froze in her chest, when the dust fell and she could clearly see. Thorin stallion screamed as Warg tried to get it's jaw around the horses throat, it reared wildly kicking with its front hooves at the Warg's chest. All Thorin could do was stab wildly at the Orc's attacking him on both sides, his face snarling wildly and with determination.

Before she knew what she was doing, Lif plunged her sword into the Warg's belly, it whined but fell forward onto Thorin's horse, pinning the prince underneath its dead weight. Lif heard a gasp of pain but couldn't wait around to think. Two Orc's turned on her, weapons raised, while the other two advanced on the Prince's trapped body. She whirled, parrying their blows, Lif ducked kicking the feet from under them. The Orc's squealed, one rolled away as she impaled the other through the chest.

Springing to his feet, the Orc waited and bided his time, until the She-Dwarf was on her feet. He circled, tasting the air with his long forked tongue. She pivoted to face him and snarled, sword and dagger clenched in her fist.

"Filthy Dwarf, I'll suck the marrow from your bones," The Orc hissed and charged, trying to tackle her in the middle. But Lif sprang sidewards and arching her blade upwards, enjoying the tugging weight of his skin tearing on her blades serrated teeth. The Orc sank to his knees and Lif kicked his dismembered head away with disgust.

Thorin cursed wildly, struggling with the weight pinning his chest, the two Orc's advancing leering down at him, swords drown ready to slit his throat. He tried to raise his shoulders and chest, pushing at the body of his bleeding horse. But suddenly cold bloody hands pressed hard against his collar bone, pushing him back to the ground, and brunette hair surrounded his face as Lif stared down at him.

Lif felt horror coil in her throat, swallowing a bellow of rage that rose in her throat, as the Orc's swaggered towards the Prince, malicious grins curled on their ugly faces. Adrenalin and cold hate rushed through her, as she vaulted over the dead horse, planting her feet either side of Thorin's waist. His mouth opened in a perfect "O" as he stared up at her in surprise, as he struggled to raise himself, grinding his teeth against the pain. Lif pushed him down, surprised by the warmth and softness of his skin.

The Orc's let out a bellow of rage, as Lif lowered herself in a defensive stance over Thorin. Lif let out a battle roar and arched her blade upwards, ripping the Orc's jaw bone from his face, his tongue lolling morbidly as blood spurted and he collapsed on the floor. His comrade squealed in rage, as Lif blade clashed with his, their face both perfect masks of bloodlust.

Thorin gazed up in bewilderment and fascination, this little creature timid and sincere was a true warrior, fierce and dangerous she was like a viper, deadly yet beautiful.

The Orc recoiled in agony as Lif took his hand off at the wrist and seized the opportunity to sink her blade deep into the Orc's chest. It collapsed, falling to the ground, nearly landing on Thorin's head. Thorin made a disgusted noise deep in his throat, as the dead Orc's face landed centimetres from his own, the smell of rotten flesh and bile invading his nose.

"Dwalin to the Prince!" Lif's voice ran out over the dispersing battle scene, smoke wafting over the dead and cries of the dying, drawing the ravens of Erebor to the corpses. Before Thorin knew what was happening, Dwalin blood spattered face appeared, and Lif and him pulled the horse off him. Then strong hands pulled him to his feet, wincing with pain, he turned to his friend.

"Round the injured, send a messenger to the healing wards to prepare for them," Thorin ordered, casting a measuring eye over the fallen. Lif had moved to his elbow without him knowing, her face was flushed and pink, mud and blood smeared down her cheek and neck.

"We should send a messenger to Dale, we court the majority of Warg's but its probable that some escaped," she was beaming and radiant, still feeling the cold rush of the adrenaline high. Dwalin nodded and ran off to complete the order.

"Get me a horse, I need to make my report," Thorin away from Lif as he gave the order, his words hissed as pain stabbed his ribs. She made no verbal response but a few moments later, muddy hands pressed leather reins into his fist and soon he was riding back to the mountain alone.  
***  
The night drew on and darkness fell fully but laughter and songs ran through the halls of Erebor as the celebration of the Prince's daring campaign. There was food and wine and beer and music but for all the merriment, all the cheers and frivolity, Lif couldn't keep her eyes of the young Prince.

He sat the high table, to the left of the King's chair. He smiled when spoken to, and sung when asked to but apart from that he was quiet and solemn, taking no food but merely drinking deeply from his goblet.

From the lowest place on the servants table, no one paid her much attention, apart from occasionally passing down a jug of wine and a leg of meat. So she was free to studying the Prince as he spoke low in his brother's ear, Frerin nodded with an air of surprise and turned back to the person on his left. Thorin nodded to his father and grandfather, then got up to leave, wincing a little. Lif watched as he disappeared from sight.

Something tickled in the back of Lif's mind, something that didn't feel quite right. In a rash move, she drained the dregs of her mug and followed the Prince, careful not to draw attention to her movements. His footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, but they were shuffled and irregular, as if he was swaying. He then moved out into the balcony, Lif watched from the dark shadows for a moment, studying the dwarf before her. For truly at that moment, he was just a dwarf, the stoic control fell from his face, and he leaned his body against the rail, moonlight playing with the jewels and patterns of his rode.

Thorin just had to get out of there. The heat was intense and the noise bashed and rattled in his ears like saucepan lids. He just wanted to breathe for a moment, a moment when he could just enjoy the moonlight on his skin and the air in his lungs. He raised his hands against the cold stone of the balustrade and sucking in a long breath, wincing slightly as his ribs protested. He ground his teeth and placed a hand on his side tentatively.

As he moved, he'd winced in pain, and his face had paled. Lif felt a wild protectiveness wash over her, and a fire she'd never known ignited in her chest. It took all her control, not to run forward and cradle his head against her. But she merely moved forward and spoke to him, it was her duty and job to care for his wellbeing.

"I knew something wasn't right. My Lord Thorin, you should have said something, if not to me to Dwalin or your father," Lif came out of the shadows, making Thorin jump out his skin, she's appeared from nowhere. He took a surprised step back, but before he could chastise her, she strode forward and gently felt his ribs.

Thorin froze, ground his teeth at the sudden heat that engulfed him, eventhough the night air was cool. Her head dipped against his chest, making him shiver and burn, as she listened to the sound her tapping made on his bones. His nails caused blood to spill into his fist and his beard trembled as he bit the inside of his mouth, fighting every molecule of his body not to inhale the beautiful perfume of her flesh.

Pain stabbed him as her fingers pressed against the particularly sore spot, and he let out a harsh hiss. Lif straightened and put her hands on her hips.

"My Prince, you've broken your ribs, we've got to get you to the healers before you pass out..." the moonlight danced off her hair and darkened her eyes , casting deep shadows under her eyes. His mouth and throat were dry as parchment, but he forced the words out.

"No, no healers, I can't stand them, " his words were hoarse but final. In truth he'd never been able to stand them since his mother had died. The smell of tangy herbs and the starched sheets made nausea wash over him, it was a reoccurring theme of his nightmares.

"Fine then at least let me do what I can, let me bind them or... something. It is my job, Sire, and you were the one that hired me," her eyes danced in determination and stubbornness. Thorin swallowed a lump at formed in throat as he looked down at her.

"I knew I'd regret taking you on," he grumbled pushing away from the barrier, his body was heavy with pain but also with beer. His head swam and he swayed precariously, Lif caught him, taking some of his weight, she hooked her fingers around his belt loop and tucked his arm over her shoulders.

Thorin tensed and his jaw clamped shut, as searing pain shot to his groin and swollen shaft throbbed with need. Her lush curves pressed into him and her breasts rubbed against him as the stumbled through the secret passageway and into his room.

Lif carefully placed him on the bed, leaving but returning a short time later with some healing supplies. She returned a short time after, bandages and ointments carried in the crook of her arm, placing them on his bedside table, she turned back to Thorin.

His movements were slow and deliberate, as he peeled away each layer of his clothing, grunting a little as he twister his body to remove his blue jerkin. Underneath he wore a simple black shirt, that was partly undone to reveal the top of his hard biceps and the bounty of black hair that dappled his chest underneath.

Lif turned back to the table, letting out a long, shaky breath. Heat ravaged her, blood ran to her skin and coiling need burned within her loins. Don't be unprofessional-she steadied herself, before picking up some ointment and turning to the Prince.

Standing before him, she tugged at the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, careful not to tug any of his dark braids. Purple bruises blossomed against his tanned skin, causing Lif to wince at the thought of his silent pain. She sunk her fingers deep into the cool ointment and began to smooth it over his skin.

Thorin sat still as a statue, suppressing the chills that this women's touch sent through him. He gasped suddenly, as her thumb lightly scraped across his hard nipple, the lightness of her touch was both agony and bliss.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you My Lord?" she pulled her hands away and stared at his face with worry.

"No, its fine , just hurry up i am tired," his spoke his growled his words through his teeth, while his hands dug into the sheets of his bed. Lif turned back to the table, returning to Thorin with bandages in her hand.

Pain splintered through him as she knelt between his legs, to get a better vantage to wrap his ribs. Her chest brushed against his thighs, teasing chills from his skin, while her cool hands moved danced across the sensitive skin of his ribs.

"Deep breathe," she voice was thick like syrup, and her face was flushed to as she ordered him. Thorin did as he was told, growling as Lif tugged tightly at the bandages one last time. Bracing herself on his knees, she got to her feet, little wispy hairs brushing against his chest as she did so.

She reached back to the dresser, and held a small crystal vile filled with purple liquid, in front of his eyes. "For the pain, it'll put you in a deep sleep while your body heals," she smiled but her face froze as she looked down at Thorin. A sudden rage ran through him like a wild animal in frenzy. He caught her wrist and pulled it under his gaze. Lif gasped in pain but said nothing.

"What in the name of Malal is that?" all his control had evaporated, as his eyes settled on the long gash across her palm.

"It's only a scratch, it didn't even bleed that much," surprised by the Prince's sudden emotion. But what happened next ripped the air from her very lungs. Thorin dipped his head suddenly and nuzzled at her palm with impossible gentleness, laying a kiss against the puckered skin. Lif froze at the sensation and moaned deep at his touch, stepping forward to cup his soft cheek in her hand, stoking his dark beard gently with her thumb.

The heat and the sweet smell of almonds were too much to bear, all he wanted to do was pull her against him and press her body into to the soft mattress. But he didn't. He pulled her hand away, with more force than he meant to and pushed it back to her side. Confusion and pain passed across Lif's face but he couldn't bear to look at her.

"That will be all, please leave," his voice was cold and commanding, and as Lif watched the caring and passionate dwarf turned to stone, cold and unfeeling. She placed the sleeping draft on his pillow, before moving to the door, when suddenly a hushed voice called behind her.

"Could you please send a message to my brother that I wish to speak with him and Lif, thank you for risking your life today, you went above the care of duty," His words were simple but they moved her soul. Inclining her head slightly, she pushed the door open and left.  
***  
He sat in darkness. Both from lack of light, and the complete and utter ruin if his soul. He'd drink himself into a stupor if it would have helped, he'd stay awake until he collapsed from exhaustion but Thorin knew it was no use. The dice had been thrown, events were now in motion that could not be unwritten.

Suddenly the door was thrown open, violently casting harsh light into the room, bright enough that Thorin had to physically shield his eyes. Spots of light blinked before him as he turned to look up at the figure standing, silhouetted in the doorway.

"You wanted to see me, Prince Thorin?" her voice washed over him like cool spring water, dousing out a savage flame. He bit the inside of his mouth until he could taste metallic blood, and he swallowed every instinct in his body that told him to hold her close and never let her go.

"Yes, please come in," He voice was too controlled, too sterile, but it was the only sound he could make. If he could just look down on her face, just one last time then, maybe, he'd be content to let her go forever.

Lif walked in silently, her movements careful and full of trepidation. She lit a candle, its flame trembled as her hands shook slightly.

Thorin could see her face, pale and grim with worry as it searched his features, a stray wisp of dark hair fell across her brow and she brushed it away quickly. Pain welled in Thorin's chest as his eyes rested on her raised wrist, it was layered with bruises, purple and yellow flourished over the delicate skin and bones. Thorin looked away quickly.

Lif stopped a few feet in front of him, candle held in front of her, casting long shadows which danced of the walls. Thorin turned his body away from her, so that he couldn't see her face, or the emotions his harsh words were going to cause.

"Lif, as of now, you are relieved of your duties in this house," the stern, cold words came out robotically, no real meaning attached to them, for all Thorin really cared they could have been a foreign language but he made himself speak anyway. From the right, he heard a small harsh intake of breath, and a rustle of fabric, as Lif took a little step backward.

"I have made arrangements for you to go with my brother's entourage to the Iron Hills, is that understood?" his voice was harsh and severe, he studied the fire blankly, needing something to focus his attention on: other than the warm heat and smell crushed almonds, that sinfully surrounded the She-Dwarf.

After a silence that seemed to stretch for aeons, Lif spoke, her voice hushed as if she'd been sprinting. "If have displeased you, I am truly sorry," she paused for a moment to swallow a large painful lump that had formed in her throat. "You have shown me nothing but kindness and I have repaid your generosity with shame." To her horror she found her eyes welling up with fat tears, which spilled down cheeks, before see wiped them away flustered and impatient.

Thorin felt like a boulder was pressing down on his chest, painful and unmovable, it was a dead weight that was breaking his heart. He turned his body fully away and walked to the far side of the room. Just far enough that he could no longer hear the shaky breathes that escaped unknowingly from Lif's lips. He would have given away all the gold he owned to be anywhere else right now. He would have preferred any torture compared with pain his words had caused her.

"No, there is no shame, I just think it's for the best," his nails bit into his palm as he tried to squeeze away the pain, though it did little apart from making him bleed. Suddenly the actual meaning of his words his hit him, like one man trying to hold back the tide, it was all too much. "Please just... Just close the door behind you as you go and take the candle with you."

His tone was final, unquestionably, a prince's word is lore and Lif carried it out. Curtsying for the very last time, she withdrew to the door. With her hand poised on the handle, she turned back to study the figure hunched in the dark. His head was bowed and his face hidden behind a curtain of hair, but Lif could see every muscle in his back was coiled tight like a spring and his spine brittle enough to snap. His displeasure and revulsion towards her had been apparent, he had shown her kindness when she needed most, and in return she had angered him.

Letting out a long sigh, Lif shut the door with a soft thud, leaving the Prince alone in the darkness he longed for.


	11. The Ransom Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: HINTS AT ABUSE AND INFERRED SEXUALLY DEVIANT ACTIVITY

WARNING: HINTS AT ABUSE AND INFERRED SEXUALLY DEVIANT ACTIVITY

The heath and trees fell away, turning into grassy tundra plains. They marched for days, until Girl's feet had blistered, burst and re blistered again. Her shift had fallen apart on the first day of travel due in the poor weather conditions, Smike made her stand, shivering in a stream as form of punishment, it was only when her lips turned blue that he'd allowed her out and given her breeches. She packed the tattered remains of nightgown into the toes of her boots and wrapped her sore heels in fabric to try and protect them from as they continued to walk.

The nights were bitterly cold. Girl was thankful for the clothes given to her, but even when Smike pressed his body into hers; it didn't keep the cold at bay. In those early days, there were nights when Girl had thought she'd died of the freezing temperatures, if it hadn't had been for the moist breathe brushing against her skin.

They never lit a fire, it was too obvious, Smike would say ,"That's what they're looking for, innit. Fire of the lonely traveller, goblins smell the smoke from miles away and before you know it..." He ran his thumb over his neck and stuck his tongue out at a grotesque angle.

It had been during the days when they were travelling through what Girl learnt was the Brown Lands, just on the northern edge of Dagorlad, that Girl had learnt the full nature of Smike's cruelty and spiteful nature. Up to this point he had seemed aloof but he'd let her traveller with him and shared his meagre meals when they had them.

The sun was dipping over the western edge of the sky and the shadows were lengthening, preparing for the coming of night. Smike and Girl neared a lonely log cabin that had a sod roof and smoke rising from the chimney. The smell of roast mutton filled the air, making Girl's mouth water and Smike groan.

"Oh what I wouldn't give for a warm treat," he licked his thin lips, before turning a checking the surroundings. Girl could almost hear the dangerous cogs ticking in his mind, planning and plotting. Suddenly he turned to her; thin weathered fingers dragged the cloak from her shoulders, and pushed her roughly forward.

"Go and knock on the door, let them take you in, then when it's quiet unlatch the door," he urged her forward with a rough push on the back, his eyes glinting with manic greed. Girl raised her eyebrows and shook her head, cowering away from him slightly.

"You will do as I say mute!" he growled, slapping her with the back of his knuckles, Girl didn't make a sound but merely stumbled as blood began to run freely down her cheek. Smike grabbed her hair and tilted her face towards him, his eyes studied her defiant eyes and his tongue ran along his wormy lips.

"You make me do this. You cause my anger," he raised his hand and smile, as Girl flinched violently, looking down towards the grass. Smike let out a throaty laugh and released her hair, pushing her body towards the cabin.

Girl stumbled but caught herself before she hit the ground, looking back Smike made his way round the back of the house, keeping his wiry body low and out of sight. Girl closed her eyes in revulsion at her own cowardice and knocked on the large wooden door.

As her final knock fell on the door, it fell open, to reveal a young man. He was tall with long curly hair, in the Rohovion style; he had an impressive blonde beard and wore a simple tunic of green homespun wool. He looked her up and down, his welcoming eyes turning to worry as he noticed her bleeding cheek and shivering shoulders.

"May I help, do please come in," Before Girl could make any kind of gesture as a response; the young man placed a hand on the small of her back and pushed her into the house. It was warm and cosy inside, a fire blazed in the hearth and meat roasted in an open spit in the middle of the room. A small woman sat up from a chair next to the fire and stared at her.

"Goodness, what a state! Whatever happened to you?" the woman was young like the man, with similar style clothing except for the silver brooch pinned to her apron. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a blue thong but tight curls fell free, resting on her shoulders. Her cheeks had a merry glow, flushed with heat from the fire.

Girl flinched as the woman placed a cloth against her cheek, dabbing the blood away. The woman smiled reassuringly, placing a hand on Girl's shoulder, as man and woman looked down at her curiously.

"Don't worry we'll not hurt you, what's your name? Do you have family close by?" the woman voice was sweet and warm, brushing soothingly through Girl's hair as she spoke.

Every fibre of Girl wanted to shout out and warn them, to tell them of the danger they were in, but as she opened her mouth and pushed air up her throat, no words came. Frustration tore through her, she made urgent gestures with her hands, patting her throat then pointing at the door and back to them. But it was all no use, the couple merely stood and stared, confused and bewildered, the woman gently grabbed the side of her face and stilled her movements.

"You are exhausted child-" her efforts were pointless, Smike would get them even if she warned them or not, with that knowledge Girl's body sagged and swayed. The Woman caught her easily in her arms and sat her on the chair by the fireplace. "- you just rest here and me and Fenric will get you something to eat and drink."

Girl watched the fire dance, dry heat baking her face, glorious heat she hadn't felt in...Well, she couldn't remember that last time she'd been warm. She allowed herself to be lulled, her body numb with the sheer comfort and love she felt in the house.

"She could be a Breelander, she has the colouring for it..." the woman spoke in a low tone, whispered and quiet, as she and the man faced the hearth, they're backs turned to her.

"What would a Breeland party be doing all the way out here? No, Threon mentioned a party of dwarves in Wold, heading towards Dagorlad, maybe she's a member of their company. Tomorrow I could take her with me into town and speak with the Dwarf leader," Fenric glanced back at Girl who was still studying the fire, the back at his wife, before tilting his kissing her warmly on the mouth.

"Whatever you think is best my love," Monsel whispered lovingly, stroking the soft blonde beard that covered her husband's chin.

Suddenly the fire sputtered and blew wildly as a gust of wind blew into the small cottage. Monsel and Fenric both span round just in time to see a dark figure silhouetted against the door way and the Girl hiding behind the door, he hands raised shielding her eyes.

Fenric's body tensed as he paused his wife's body away from his, "Monsel, get my sword," his voice quivered a little, and fear gleaming in the whites of his eyes. "Who are you? How dare you come into my house uninvited?" Fenric shouted, fear shining through his angry words. It was a poor mask, even Girl could see through it.

But Smike answered the man's question with steel. Moving faster than Fenric could move Smike drew his sword across the man's neck, sending blood spraying across the walls. Sinking to his knees, Fenric gave one last gurgle before collapsing on the wooden floor, blood pooling under his body.

Monsel took a step forward, towards her husband's body, than halted. Her hands pressed against her face and mouth as she screamed. Girl bit the inside of her mouth as memories of the screams in Laketown hit her, children's scream, burning, smoke, rope...and the Pale Orc. But she couldn't think now, not with Monsel's cries burning in her ears. Finally, Smike roused himself from bloodlust, licking his lips and throwing his sword away, he turned to the hysterical women.

"Shut up you whore!" he screamed and grabbed a handful of her hair, slamming her skull against the hard floor. Monsel struggle at first, she hands hitting as Smike's chest and body, as he pushed himself down on her. He kneeled on her chest and snarled, slamming her head down on the floor again and again and again, until the women was still and silent. Panted breathes came out of Smike's body as he stared down at the blood on his hands and the women turning cold beneath his legs.

Girl heard the screams and the shouts but saw nothing, she was a coward, she hid her face, pressing herself closer into the dark nook behind the door. She clenched her eyes even tighter as the house shook with dull thuds; as Smike cracked the women's head open. Then all was too quiet, too still, fear gripped Girl like a hand on her throat. The only sounds to be heard were the sounds of tearing fabric and the slow thump of someone moving repeated against the floor: and of course, all this above the pounding of her heart.

Suddenly there was a deep throaty grunting sound and then shuffled footsteps, Girl jumped violently as a hand grabbed her shoulder and forced her around. Smile's was flushed and red, his trousers unbuttoned at the top and shirt and knees covered with blood.

"You did well Girl," he grinned heartily, pushing the door shut and forcing her into the centre of the room. Smike went to the fire and sawed a bit of meat of the mutton on the spit, he tossed it to her, but Girl didn't eat, Monsel was laying at her feet, blood and tissue surrounding her head and her skirt bunched high around her thighs. Girl was to numb to do anything, it was a struggle to keep from retching, let along eat the piece of meat on her lap.

Smike sat down heavily next to her, holding a plate full of food and a mug of ale, using Monsel's stomach as a foot rest. He actually laughed, ale spitting from his mouth, as his sides shook.

"We live like kings! Ale, meat, and women, what more could any man ask for," he laughed again prodding the dead women's body with the toe of his boot. Girl didn't reply, she couldn't, because she didn't feel anything, any emotion or words to describe what was happening inside her mind.

It was only later when Smike slept, his fist tightly woven into her hair, and his arms and naked legs draped over Girls body, that she had a moment to think. Although his body closed in around her, pushing down on her ribs and making the walls close in, she pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on dilemmas far more confusing than her rising claustrophobia.

Numb, was the only word to describe what she was feeling. Numb with pain, her soul slowly being crushed with the weight of what she'd done. Repulsed by herself, she could have found a way to help, to fight but what then? Who would accept her, who would take her in? She was an outcast, a murderer, she was alone. And maybe, it would have been better if she had just let herself die in Laketown.  
***  
Days spilled into one, more like the same. A boring blur of walking and marching across the wilderness, grassy rangers and flinty hillsides passed under Girl's feet as she and Smike wandered.

Through the months Smike would talk, filling the empty silences, enjoying the sound of his own voice. He talked about the best way to skin a rabbit, a special type of mead they made in the Northern Wastes, and basically anything that came into his head. Sometimes he would get himself into a rage, fuming at some forgotten slight or argument he'd had with a companion long ago, and with that anger he would turn on her. With beating fists and whiplashes Girl was broken; any spirit that was hidden away inside her was quenched in the icy pain he caused her.

Eventually with the passing of time, Girl learnt from Smike, she watched him hunt, watched him train with sword and bow. Studying his body from a distance, as weapon and man became one. So Girl watched and learnt, following his example, stealing and killing at his command. Numb and machine like, a puppet on a string controlled by his words and cold hands.  
***  
t was summer, late June, and they were sheltering under a small outcrop of trees, due west of Minhiriath. Light rain spilled down from the sky, mists began to roll in from the distant shoreline, bringing with it a biting chill to the air. The fire was burning well but Girl still shivered under the damp wool of her cloak, the hair rose on her neck, and she shifted uneasily.

"We'd have reached Sharbad by tomorrow evening if this damn rain hadn't of hit, now Dace Ill' take up with some other Bastard," Smike spat into the fire and poked harder at the embers, using the hilt of his sword to move the ashes until it glowed white hot. Dace was one of Smike's "business associates." Every few months or so Dace, a fat balding man who Smike knew from his days as a Ranger, would give them the specific location of a baggage train or merchant caravan. After "liberating," some gold or expensive goods, and spilling innocent's blood, they would give Dace a good percentage of the loot: As a token of good faith.

It actually turned out that Girl was a natural with a sword and a bow but usually their targets were not trained and not warriors, so her skills were rarely extended outside executions. She merely did the job she was ordered to do.

Girl said nothing; never a word, for by this time, Smike had learnt to read her facial expressions like a book. She arched her eyebrow and shot him an exasperated look; he coughed and hacked into the fire.

"If you want to catch a cold, feel fucking free to meet Dace on your own but these old bones aint' dying of no common cold," his words were bitter and sharp, and he probed the fire again. They could have made it on time, but Smike complained of the cold and the rain, but most of all his pace was not what it was and his knees complained with every step he took. It was true he had grown old. In the years they had travelled Smikes' hair had gained a thick layer of greasy grey and his skeletal face now looked papery and withered.

Suddenly, deep within the undergrowth, there came a rustle and sharp snapping of twigs. Girl brought herself to her feet, but kept low in a defensive stance, in case of archers positioned in the trees. Smike loosened his sword from its sheath, just so the blade could be seen glinting underneath the leather bound handle.

Then movement erupted from the trees, leaves and branches were thrown aside as horses and men barged past into the small clearing, swords and spears drown, pointed at their faces. Several men riding smallish long haired ponies, all swathed in furry animal skins, topped off with horned helmets. Smike growled and bared his teeth at the men, as one placed his spear under his chin, allowing the man next to him to lower his weapon and speak.

"Wilhelm son of Duneheir, we have been hunting you for many months, but it seems even you cannot escape judgement any longer, it is now time to repent for your crimes." The man who spoke was dark like Smike, but was taller {maybe 6 foot 8}, broader and had a powerful aura about him. It was clear to Girl that the man was important, the horns on his helmet were wrought with silver and he had a white wolf pelt draped over his shoulders.

Smike had visibly paled, turning even greyer than his greasy grey hair. He swallowed and studied the men surrounding him, calculating his options. Girl for her part, stood silent listening, but always watchful of the spear head pointing at her face.

"And what crimes are you accusing me of Verres? Whatever the accusation, am I not entitled to a fair trial?" He made his voice smooth and mocking, Girl could see that every word Smike spoke grated on Verres with irritation, anger flaring up in his warm brown eyes.

"You forfeited your right to a fair trial when you butchered an entire village. Or have your years skulking in the shadows hidden the memory from you," Verres barked, grabbing Smike by the collar and dragging him close, so that their faces were barely inches from each other. Smike smiled eerily, enjoying the anger and pain that washed off the man's face.

"I was there, Wilhelm, I saw what you did to those women and children. You may be exiled from the tribe, but no matter how many years you've hidden as a Ranger, that cannot keep the savage Northern Waste blood from you veins." Giving Smike final shake, Verres released him and took a step back, sucking in one cool, steadying breath.

"Oh yes Verres, I forgot Aeprin was there wasn't she? My my how time flies, but I still remember all of them –," Smike stepped away, smiling mockingly, ignoring the other riders; he moved and swayed his body but maintained perfect eye contact with Verres. "- but I remember Aeprin in particular. She didn't scream, no not at all..."

Smike spoke, words flowing off his tongue like wine out of a pitcher. And with every word he terrible word he spoke the more Verres's anger grew, until it was burning in him like an unquenchable forest fire, raging wildly so that no water could ever put it out.

Girl listened to Smike's words too. He painted a heinous picture, acts he'd committed, atrocities he'd enjoyed until her skin crawled where he'd touched her. For the first time in so many years she felt, the numbness was gone and now she just ached with her own emptiness: it was like a twisting screw in her gut.

Suddenly the word span and an arm clamped down around her neck, pressing painfully on her airwaves, she lashed out but Smike squeezed harder.

"Now, this really has been nice to catch up but gentleman I am on a schedule which I do plan to keep," Smike's words were harsh and cold, he pushed her forward so that Verres's raised sword pressed against her breast bone, the man visibly paled but kept his face cool.

"And what do I care, the girl is nothing to me," Verres kept his steely brown eyes fixed on Smike's, daring him to make one false move.

"Oh really? And what would Aeprin say if she was still alive. Would she want you to spill the blood of an innocent in the name of her revenge?" Smike's voice whispered in her ear, his hot breath against her neck, revulsion and nausea rocked her body and she began to struggle. But Smike pulled his arm tighter around her neck and pushed his face into her hair, enjoying the pain that washed over Verres' face.

She couldn't stop herself, something within her awoke, a little part of her soul that hadn't been smothered or crushed. It swirled and burned in her chest before pushing up her throat and fleeing out of her mouth.

"Get the hell away from me!" her voice was gravelly and barely audible from her vocal cords lack of use, but it was loud and strong. Smike tensed and stared wild eyed at her for a moment, confusion and disbelief drawing his face into a wrinkled frown. But Verres interrupted suddenly, snapping Smike's attention back to the moment.

"Fine! Goddess dammit, it will not have an innocents blood spilt in Aeprin's name. But mark my words we will get you one day, sooner or later we will get you," Verres snarled and threw his sword to the ground, Smike threw his head back, letting out a humourless laugh.

"Aye but not this day, now if you'd be so kind as to give me a horse," leather reins were passed to him and he pulled Girl and himself up onto its back, being careful to maintain the painful hold he had on her throat.

"Now, down boys," pointing a mocking finger, he order the rest of the men to dismount from their horses. They to their leader, and Verres nodded, his jaw clenched tight. As the men's feet hit the muddy ground, Smike bashed the horses flanks with the flat of his sword, sending them galloping wildly into the distance. He walked the horse to the edge of the clearing, before pulling it round, so that Smike could look back down at the angered men.

"Until we next meet Verres king of incompetence, until that day," and with that Smike spurred on his horse into a gallop, still gripping Girl uncomfortably tight around the neck, and holding her body roughly against his as they rode. Girl wanted to scream, cry out but why? What was the point with no one to hear it but him?

After hours of riding, sunset was drawing to a close and dusk light was darkening rapidly, only then did they stop. Dropping to the ground first, Smike pulled Girl roughly down after him, so violently in fact that she fell to her knees.

"What do you think you're playing at? What did you want to gain by your little trick?!" he screamed down at her, flipping her on to her back with a sharp snapping kick to the ribs.

"All these years and not even a squeak, little mouse!" he kicked her again, sending raking pain through her ribs, Girl coughed blood onto the grass but said nothing. Smike stood straight and looked down at her with distain, his chest panting in anger. Slowly and silently, Girl pushed herself to her feet, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth and nose.

Girl looked at him, his cold dead eyes, hooded and red with anger, as he glared back at her. Fury was a cool sting through her muscles, curling her fist into a tight ball, her arm snapped from her side and into Smike's face. He grunted and stumbled back; clutching his cheek in disbelief and pain, rage boiling underneath the service.

"Don't you ever dare to touch me again," She made sure every word was filled with the anger she felt and with the promise of pain, hate permeated the words. And then she turned around and headed away, clutching her ribcage as she tried to limp away. But then bone chilling laughter filled the air, freezing the air in her lungs and the blood in her veins.

"Who would have you now? After all you've done. You are a murderer. You are a thief." Smike's body shook with howling laughter, tears running down the wrinkles in his face.

"Why, you are not better than me. Actually you are me and you don't even have the guts to see it," his words rolled around and around in her head. They confirmed everything she'd feared.

She wasn't like him, she was worse.


	12. Heat on the mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oki- warning first KILI/FILI INCEST chap, sorrynot sorry x

Thorin's foul mood was evident from the deep stare and scowling features as he stormed into the spacious room that the dwarves were bedded in. He'd barked commands and growled at any who dared to squeak a noise. They packed their equipment slower than usual; Fili for his part was looking forward to a good night's sleep without being rained on.

And then, that was that. They left, the white halls of Rivendale towering behind them. As they ascended into the misty hills, Thorin shouted at the little Burglar to keep up; he was lagging behind badly. Sighing deeply, reluctantly back down the valley towards the elf city, its elegant beauty and cosy design reminded him of home. It made his heart long for the Shire.

And of course, the Guide and Gandalf were nowhere to be seen. It was usual for the Wizard to come and go as he pleased but no one had dared mention Bow's absence to Thorin. Fili presumed he already knew, judging by his terrible mood.

It was just dawning midday with the sun high behind thick grey clouds when the Company came to a fork in the road, one path rising high into the cloud bank, the other stretching out before them. The king stared at the high mountain pass, before letting out a gruff snort, rolling his shoulders a little as the rest of the Company caught up. Fili stood at his uncle's shoulder, looking ahead into the dismal weather.

"Which road do you think we should take Thorin?" Fili asked firmly, meaning to appear bold and strong under his Uncle's scrutiny. Thorin's jaw clenched noticeably and a vein started to throb in his head.

"We'll use the lower mountain pass and reach the other side in two days' time." His voice was tight and clipped in an attempt to hide his temper.

"And our Guide, did...she recommend this route. I thought she has some knowledge travelling these mountains," struggling to keep the curiosity from his voice, judging it wiser not to mention her name, Fili was surprised by his Uncle's choice; the lower mountain pass was known to be treacherous and plagued by bandits and …worse. Thorin's face visibly darkened and Fili felt the mood darken.

"Bow will be meeting us on the other side. She'd rather fend for herself out there, rather than deal with the likes of us." His words felt like a shower of cold water to Fili's face and he backed away from his uncle's foul mood, taking comforting refuge at his brother's side.

As the day drew on it was evident to Fili and Thorin, though chose to ignore his own weariness, that the Company were exhausted. Having little sleep in the past nights had started to take its toll on all of them; the Hobbit more so than the others. He stumbled and tripped, ripping the knees of his breeches until they were ragged and bloody; "Burglar, up here with me," Thorin snapped, finally losing his temper as Bilbo landed in a sprawling heap, halting the entire convoy again. Rubbing at the elbow he'd bashed, Bilbo sniffed a little and scurried to walk in the Thorin's large and dominating shadow, grabbing onto the back of his fur collar every time he slipped.

The weather steadily got worse, rain began to shower them in the late afternoon, and soon they were being pelted with sleet that stung their skin and soaked them through to the bone. The fierce wind whirled about their bodies, screaming in their ears as they pressed themselves into the rock face, clinging to each other for anchorage, lest they be thrown of the side if the mountain.

The sky began to growl and lightning bolts split the heavens. the mountain rumbled with deep seething ferocity, as if the very air was quivering in fear. Boulders tumbled about their heads, sending cascades of rumble and debris rushing down towards them. Dwalin shouted a warning to the Company as the stones came crashing towards them, snatching Ori away from the edge and shielding him against the rock, his muscled arms raised to protect his bare skull.

In a shower of dust the rocks stopped, but as the Company looked about them, their cries of relief were soon replaced with cries of amazement and awe. The mountain was moving, coming alive. Legs and arms formed one massive body maybe 200 feet high. Stone Giants.

"What's happening?" Fili's yelled question hung unanswered in the air as the mountainside swung violently, sounds of granite and marble slamming together with a deafening smash. Suddenly another body rose from its bed in the mountainside, rising to meet its defiant challenger.

"Kili, take my hand!" His brother's shout was dragged away by the raging wind as his hand reached out to him. Kili's face was blank with horror, like a slap in the face, and terror coiled in his chest as his brother slipped out of his hands. Fili, Bifur and Bombor clung desperately to each other, as the giant's knee pulled away from the rock.

Kili could do nothing, the mountain side pulled away from him, Fili with it. Thorin's strong arms wrapped around his middle hauling him away from the edge, a hoarse scream died in his throat Fili! no noise came out his mouth. He couldn't think, couldn't stand, couldn't breathe.

Fili…

But the mountain slammed together again and letting out a terrible gasp of relief, Fili tumbled across with Bifur and Bombur. Kili let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding, utter relief washing over him like a warm bath on a cold day. Even so, the worry and desperation of a few moments ago pained him. He was beginning to realise that life was precarious. One little tilt of the scales and their lives would fall imbalanced on the scales: standing on the edge. They could be dead any second and never even realise.

From where he fell, Fili looked up at his younger brother, but Kili's eyes were cold and hard as he pulled his brother to his feet by the elbow. He didn't utter a word of reassurance or comfort, merely dragged till he stood, clenched his jaw and marched away, shoulders bunched tightly.

They were together again and that's all that matter to Fili. He wouldn't admit it, but the seconds without his brother had been agony, perfect and utter agony. He wouldn't allow himself to think about it. Not when, at that moment, Bilbo was dangling off the cliff edge, hanging on for dear life. The others shouted his name and tried to reach him, groping desperately at his arms. as Fili watched wild with worry, Thorin threw his body forward, his strong grip holding onto the rock face, the other arm giving the Hobbit the boost he needed to be pulled up.

Thorin's harsh words were blown away into the wind from where Bow watched the Company, she didn't know what he'd said but she saw the Hobbit visibly pale and hold his chest as if wind had been knocked out of him.

Her hand was tense as it gripped the clammy service of her crossbow, arrow notched, rope tied tightly to the end. She had watched silently in trepidation as Bilbo's legs had slipped away from under him. Her reaction was military, preparing to fire, but Thorin moved faster than she moved. Throwing his body into peril to help Bilbo, a wild moment of panic contorted his weathered features, but as Mr Baggins was pulled to safety the cold impassiveness returned to Thorin's face.

No matter how he tried to hide it Bow had seen, Thorin cared for the Hobbit. whether it was pity or stubbornness, she couldn't tell, but it was a pleasant surprise to her that Thorin would put away his pig-headedness and risked his own life to save Bilbo, even if he openly distained him.

As Bow watched from her perch on the shelf of rock high above them, the Company were oblivious to her as they carried on their journey. Soon enough, they reached a small cave and, ducking into it, Thorin and Co started bedding down for the night.

With a sickening flip the bottom seemed to fall out her stomach. PRE-CHANNAS! IDIOTS! Bow's torso contracted in irritation. Camping on a Goblin infested mountain, not the wisest of moves. Surely Thorin wouldn't take such as risk - But her urgency outweighed her irritation; she knew the cunning ways of Gorkil. The trap was laying in wait and the Company were lambs to the slaughter.

I warned them! Damn Thorin and his pig headed stubbornness!

She did not stop to think, she couldn't; there wasn't time. If she wanted to get to them on time she'd have to work through the night. There was no point shouting and screaming across the valley, the wind would have blown her words away and with no way to make fire she couldn't make a signal.

Panic caused an adrenaline fuelled shiver to run up her skin. Damn Dwarves how why don't you listen?!

But you are their Guide you should have warned them, you should be there to protect them. You did give Thorin your word and how have you repaid them, by leaving them to have their throats slit in the night, a steely voice sneered from the back of her mind, causing her blood to run cold.

Shouldering her bag and yanking angrily at her rain soaked her, she double checked the leather binding on her hands and soles of her boats, before sinking the weight of her body against the cliff face and beginning the exhausting descent down into a crevasse of rock and down into the belly of the mountain. Her shoulders ached and her bones were numb as cold sweat now covered her hands and ran down her neck.

Every jerk and miscalculated footing lost her time, each second bringing the Dwarves closer to their messy, sticky ends in the depths of Goblin Town.

You gave them your pledge, now look how you've repaid them… The words swam around her mind as she sank further into the dark abyss of the mountain. Only her swift feet could ensure any survivors.  
***  
It was only later when Thorin had ordered they camp that Fili had worked up the courage to talk to his younger sibling; he hadn't said a word since the Stone Giant incident and his silence was beginning to worry him. Although they were camped in the largest cave, the mountain side was dotted with them, creating dozens of smaller, less sheltered crevasses in the rock.

"Kili, Fili: check those. Make sure they do not lead anywhere," Thorin had recovered from the worry and anxiety of almost losing Fili, he was now just relieved to have shelter out of the rain and a freezing sleet, so that the exhausted Company could rest for an hour or two. Kili nodded at his older brother stiffly, shouldering his bow and marching out into the rain without a word or a backward glance.

Fili followed closely, not wanting to lose his brother in the darkness of night. The first three caves were shallow enough for Kili to merely poke his head into to check how they ended, the forth however was deep and dark, and it stretched further than the eye could see. Before Fili could protest, Kili advanced into the cave. Finally out of the rain, he lit a torch, casting long flickering shadows against the pale walls.

The noise of the raging storm was muffled a little in the bowels of the grotto. It was dark but Kili's torch lit the way. They had a duty to Thorin to check the caves; it would not do for the Company to be ambushed because of their mistake, so Fili waited until they finally reached a dead end to speak. In the depths of the chamber, they had lost sight of the valley outside, but Fili still kept his voice low in case someone overheard.

"Kee, what is wrong? You're never this quiet; you're starting to worry me brother." His voice gentle and curious, he carefully watched his brother's back tighten in tension. In a blur of movement, the torch was thrown aside with reckless abandon and Kili grabbed Fili's collar, pressing him hard against the cave wall with surprising strength. Fire light danced wildly in his brothers eyes, making them look dark and dangerous, his chest rising frantically as he panted for breath. Fili raised his hands against his brother's torso in surprise and mild panic.

"Worrying you? I'm worrying you? You could have died, did you not think? I leave your side for less than a moment and your dangling off a Stone Giant!" His face was inches from Fili's, hazel eyes glistening in tension and words hoarse and frenzied.

Fili was too shocked to react; all he could do was gaze at his younger brother's face in disbelief. Kili never got angry, ever. His shocking fury sent cold shivers down Fili's spine.

"Did you not think just for one second how I would feel? how I would react if you died? I would be expected to live without my brother, my love for the rest of my days. Don't you ever scare me like that again!" His words were growled through clenched teeth, full of resentment and fury at the thought of living without Fili.

Kili's voice and eyes softened slightly, as he relinquished his grip on his collar, moving it gently up to stroke the soft beard under Fili's bottom lip. "Kili..." The words died in his throat. It was a rash movement, but seeing his brother in so much pain and turmoil; Fili couldn't stand it. Raising his hands, Fili rested one on the exposed collar bone of Fili's neck and cupped his jaw with the other, running his thumb gently over his brother's sharp cheek bone. Under his hands he could feel his brother's pulse beating wildly and the violent rise and fall of his chest. Kili's eyes went wide in surprise, searching Fili's face, and studying his plump wet lips.

Fili's breath hitched suddenly as Kili's lips met his, fiery and frenzied, his tongue ravished Fili's mouth savagely. Fili stood frozen for a moment, silent, heart thumping in his chest as his brother's warm body pressed unashamedly into his. He was his brother, they had been children together, and best friends, brothers in arms but the hurt he caused his brother was so much more real than all of that. The pain and suffering he had caused needed to be healed; the broken man needed to be put back together. This dwarf, who stayed with him, no matter the hardships, was more than his brother: Fili realised with glistening clarity, he was his love, unconditionally.

Kili was already growing hard and pressing into his stomach, being 3 inches taller helped as he engulfed him. But Fili succumb to the heat and the friction and the wild lust that Kili rained down on him. Fili responded now, wrapping his arms around his brother's neck and pulling his mouth harder towards his, their warm tongues fighting for dominance as their lips meshed seamlessly together.

A moan curled deep from within Fili's chest as Kili pressed himself harder against him, supporting them with a strong arm against the stone, the other pulled at Fili's hip, driving his aching groin against his, the hardness causing a gasp to escape from his wanton lips.

Fili ran his hands over his brother's chest and sides, violently pulling apart his shirt and jacket, until his panting chest and tanned torso were exposed to the cold air. Daring to pull apart from Kili's mouth, he nibbled down his jaw and collar bone, enjoying teasing moans from his brother's body for a moment, Fili let a devilish grin spread across his features as he dipped his golden head and gently suckled at the rosy nipple that had been hidden under the soft cotton of Kili's shirt.

"Oh sweet Aüle, Fili... Why do you torture me so," Kili's eyes were shut tight and pressed into Fili's wild mane of hair, his words lusty gasps in the throes of exquisite pleasure. Kili's felt his brother's body shake as he chuckled against his skin, his beard tingling and teasing the sensitive skin, while his hand roaming wilding through Kili's hair.

"Because you make it so easy for me," Fili's words were lost in the passion of a deep kiss as Kili's throw his head forward to claim his brother's mocking mouth. Their bodies rocked and grinded together, needing to be ever closer, to feel more flesh and more heat. Fili couldn't take it anymore, the build on tension, the slight probing warmth in the base of his belly was all too much, his body couldn't hold. Pleasure ripped through his body mercilessly, he whimpered and moaned Kili's name as he clung to his brother's body; one hand scrapping down his brother's armour clad back, the other weaved into his brother's soft brunette hair.

At the sound of his brother calling his moan in orgasm, Kili climaxed violently. Growling his brother's name, he forced Fili's body harder against the rough stone, knocking the breath from his panting lungs; and in the madness of pleasure bit mercilessly into his brother's neck. Fili moaned quietly, warmed with satisfaction as he rocked against his brother, until they both stood panting and sated.

In the cold of night, their panted breathes escaped like clouds of mist, sweat laid dewy on their foreheads and heat radiated from their bodies. Neither said anything, merely content to hold one another close, their foreheads pressing together as they held one another's bodies. Their heartbeats were one, rhythmically moving as one being, they were whole only when they were together. Gradually as their pulses slowed and calmed, the noise from the storm outside wafted in, awakening them from their isolation.

It was Fili who spoke first, gently brushing a lock of brunette hair that had fallen in front of Kili's eyes; his voice was slightly hushed and hoarse. "Oh Aüle, what have we done?" Kili looked down at his brother, Fili's eyes were quivering with heartache. The gods would curse them, their kin would shun them, and Thorin would cast them alone into the world of anyone were to find out about the two of them.

Taking a step back from his brother's warmth reluctantly, Kili straightened his clothing and stiffened his back. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, so he looked away from Fili's desperate gaze and down at his boots.

"What are we going to do? Now that I've got you, what if I've got to let you go? We shouldn't have done this? What will Thorin say? Oh Kili, Thorin will want me to marry to carry on Durin's line. He'll want me to have sons! With a woman..."He slumped against the stone wall, hands pressed out for balance, Fili's words spilled from his mouth like a tidal wave that didn't want to stop; until he felt his brother's hand press comfortingly against the side of his face. Kili waited a heart beat for his brother to calm, the coldness of his dark eyes making his spine shiver.

"Shhh My King," he whispered running his coarse fingers through Fili's beard, "Whatever troubles and hard ships lay ahead, we will cross that bridge when we come to it. Together." Offering a little smile and twirling one of his brothers braid between his fingers.

"We should go. The Company will be wondering where we've got to," Fili said mildly, enjoying the closeness of his brothers body. Kili smiled and nodded. laying his hand on Fili's lower back and the flickering torch in the other, they made their way out into the howling wind.

Looking up at the boiling sky and seething storm clouds, Kili had to hide the foreboding chill that spread through his bones. To keep Fili would be selfish, but being so close and loving him so much he couldn't see a way to be apart from him. The agonies to come would be terrible and would probably pull their world apart. Closing his eyes against the freezing rain, Kili swallowed the fear gripping his heart and turned, putting a smile on his face, into the cave his love and the Company were sleeping in.  
***  
Night had fallen and the storm raged on outside but the Dwarves slumbered with deep breathes and the occasional snore, savouring the slight warmth from the closeness of each other's bodies. After the Dwarves had thrown their packs down, moaning and groaning about their frozen limbs, Bilbo had silently pressed himself into a corner of his own: he was finally away from the malevolent eye of Thorin or any of his well meaning Company.

Time passed and no one disturbed Bilbo as he feigned sleep, pressing his face against the cold stone wall in case anyone should peer at him too close. He made his breaths deep and steady, holding his body as still as he could, while the others mumbled around him.

Thorin's voice was deep and resounding, sending racking chills over Bilbo's body. His words had hit him like he'd been kicked in the chest.

He's been lost since he left home!

! The air had disappeared from his lungs and a painful lump formed in throat. The warrior's words had cut him, and his heart bled.

Damn it, he was right. You've been fooling yourself, he mentally scolded spitefully, fooling the Company and worse of all fooling Bow. She above the others had put her trust in him, shown his a little kindness and all for what - to show them he was coward. A fraud, a stupid little Hobbit, who missed his chair, his bed, his books… Oh how he missed his books! If he'd known adventures were really like this he'd never have signed that Damned contract.

Swallowing his nerves, he moved as quietly and silently as possible. Strapping his pack to his back and grasping his stick with false determination, Bilbo gingerly tip toed his way to the cave entrance. The cave was actually rather warm and snug compared to the world outside. Rain hissed and spat, stinging Bilbo's face a little, before he retreated back into the cave and looking down at his sleeping companions regretfully. Nori and Dori snuggled close to their younger brother; Oin and Gloin slept back to back, Bifur slumped against Bombur using his huge belly as a cushion, Thorin curled in a corner away from everyone, and Kili and Fili slept close, their foreheads pressed together.

Suddenly movement caught his attention and a pair of gleaming beetle black eyes appeared out of the dark. Bofur approached him, concern crinkling him merry face.

"Master Baggins, where are you going? You can't leave! You're part of the Company." The simpleness of his words of his words broke Bilbo's heart as his eyes quivered uncertainly. Words escaped Bilbo for a moment, overwhelmed by the Dwarf's concern.

"I'm not though am I. Thorin said I never should have come and her was right. I don't belong here: I'm not a fighter; I'm not strong or courageous. I'm not a warrior; I miss my house and my books. I am a Baggins of BagEnd, that is where I belong and you belong nowhere…" The words sprung from his mouth before he knew what he was saying. Bofur's cheeks fell, and the smile fell from his face as it paled.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..." His voice trailed off and he winced at the poor excuse of an apology.

"No, you're right. We don't belong anywhere." The sparkling light had disappeared from Bofur's eyes. He studied his feet a little before raising his eyes to Hobbit.

"I wish you all the luck in the world," he sighed. Sincere and beautiful, Bofur's words caused a fist sized lump to press painfully in his throat.  
***  
Thorin was silent, ears straining to hear the conversation over the light whirl of the wind outside. He'd always been a light sleeper, struggling as a child with insomnia, he'd laid awake for hours while the Company slept in peace. If the Hobbit hadn't shifted his pack so roughly, Thorin doubted he would have heard him move.

Thorin's emotions battled silently under the cover of darkness: it would be doing him a kindness to let him leave, he wasn't meant for this world, he wasn't a warrior or a fighter, wasn't built for the harsh reality of the wide world outside the Shire. If he stayed Thorin couldn't guarantee his safety, and would probably end up dead. And Thorin had enough blood on his hands as it was.

However the Burglar had shown valour and intelligence: did he regret his words? Thorin couldn't tel., Bow had spoken true when she said the Hobbit had a fire in him. But if he continued on this road he would likely not return to his homely little smial in the Shire. Thorin's emotions were as tangled as his blanket about his legs.

Suddenly from the entrance of the cave, there was a loud inhale of air, a low curse and all hell broke loose.

"UP! UP! Get up all of you!" The Hobbit's frantic shouts echoed of the stone walls as Thorin sprang to his feet, sword in hand. The floor began to shake violently, displacing dust and sand to reveal the carved markings on the stone beneath.

"Out, everyone. Out now!" Thorin swore and yelled, grabbing Fili by the elbow to his side. But all was too late, the floor fell through and the black jaws swallowed them whole, the deep drum beats of war pounding in their ears as they plummeted down into the seething humid heat of Goblin town.


	13. GoblinVille, population: You!

Bow crouched in the darkness, heart pounding against ribs, ears straining to hear all the distant murmurs of the mountain. The air boomed with the drums of war, whetstones grinded against crudely made blades, and the excited gabble of Goblins made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Nervous energy coursed through her veins and she swallowed in an attempt to moisten her dry mouth.

Hunched in a shadowy nock, Bow curled her body into the darkness just out of sight of the platoon of Goblins during closer.

"Gets 'em' Dwarves and chop 'em' up

Boil 'em' cause theirs' bones is tough.

If they scream, if they wriggle,

Stab em hard, it makes us giggle."

High pitched and maniac, the Goblins song echoed off the rough stone walls, making Bow's ears ring and her stomach turn in disgust. The pack were close, their foul stench particularly pungent, as they lurched past. She pressed herself harder into the shadows, trying to starve off the rising desperate panic of her heart.

They weren't dead, they are not dead!

She'd moved as fast as she knew how, desperately scrambling up sheer walls of granite, sprinting and leaping over underground water systems; and letting herself fall into the dark abyss, grabbing a handhold at the last heart wrenching second before her body would shatter on the jagged rocks below. On more than one occasion she'd miscalculated, stumbled and slid, landing heavily, rattling her bones and leaving her pained and breathless. But no matter how fast she'd moved, how many risks she'd taken, she could still be too late: too late to save Thorin and his kin.

Please just let me win, just this once, let no one be hurt because of me.

"Wait, wait I said!" a little Goblin snap with large buggy eyes and a pig-like snout let out a high pitched wail, rattling a vicious club at his fellows. He leaned his thin grey body into the ground, sucking in a deep snort of air, his head jerked upwards and his ugly leering face peered into the darkness towards her hiding place.

Bow could feel his probing red eyes on her skin; she suppressed a shudder and held her breath. The Goblin shifted his body and hopped awkwardly on all fours towards her, dragging his knuckles in the dust, he sniffed deeply and his grey snout twitched.

"Dwarf flesh, I smell sweet scent of Dwarf flessssssh!" He hissed,his bald head twitched with nervous energy.

"Idiot! Dwarves are smelly beasts, their scent is everywhere," another, larger, Goblin snapped with irritation, hitting his breast plate to show his dominance of the group. The little one flicked out his tongue, tasting the air like a serpent. He narrowed his beady red eyes with silent menace, before hopping off after his pack, scrambling and skidding on dust and loose rubble.

The pack disappeared into the distance of the tunnel, their stomps and growls' fading into the background of the mountains humming energy until Bow was finally surrounded by disconcerting silence once again. Her muscles unclenched a little as she cautiously peeping her head out into the narrow corridor of rock to study her surroundings.

She was in a thin crevasse of stone, just off one of the many passage ways that led into the main chamber of Goblin Town. Dimly lit by flickering torches nailed to the walls, stagnant warm air caught in the back of her throat as realisation hit her square in the chest. She had been here before.

Fate always seemed to get her into trouble, but then again fate could be a bitch. A set of seemingly inconsequential events always carried her where she wished to never set foot again. Goblin Town, she pushed the memories away, rejecting them, locking them in the back of her mind where they belonged.

Keeping her body low to the ground, daggers still tied tightly to her hands, she made her way down the tunnel. Moving quickly and silently, flattened her back to the wall, she halted at the end of the corridor. Her heart froze in her chest and she forgot how to breathe at the sight that awaited her.

Every Goblin and creature of the mountain was out in force to spy on the dwarf prisoners. Lights twinkled out of every patch of rock and wooden gangway, making the massive cavern look like the sky on a starry night. Bow would have thought it beautiful if the acrid smell of charred meat and the deep throbbing of the beating drums weren't giving her a constant reminder of the immediate danger she was in. Goblins crawled like ants in front of her eyes. Everywhere she looked there were hundreds; the gangways, the crude huts, and jagged rocks surrounding were all smothered in Goblins.

If Bow survived this, it would be a miracle. Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, tugging her hood over her face, she darted out, using the shadows for cover and keeping her back to the wall. Her progress was slow, using obstacles like barrels and heaps of rubbish to hide behind whenever Goblins passed by.

It was too slow, she was being too slow. She needed to get to the Company and fast; their lives depended on it for Aüle's sake. Bow needed a plan. **

The smell of rotten food and harsh sulphur was thick and noxious as Bow ducked behind yet another mound of garbage, to avoid a goblin patrol. This one was big, they were growing steadily bigger as they neared goblin square.

It was now or never, the next seconds could cost the dwarves their lives, or save them. Their lives rested on a mad haired brained, downright idiotic plan; if Bow pulled this off she was either a genius or a lunatic, but it's surprising how easy them two coincide

Bow's muscles bunched in concentration and anticipation, her knuckles white as she gripped the bone handle of her knife tightly in her fist. Her eyes were keen, but in the dim light of the cave they had to strain to make things clear.

Twenty, maybe more, Goblins passed her by, but still she waited, waited for the opportune moment to strike. There. The last Goblin was about to pass her. He was big and fat, although he probably wasn't that muscled under his breast plate, grey hair spurted from under his battered helmet.

" Oh coooey, sweetie over here." Her voice was urgent but low; so much tension in her body she was like a coiled spring as she put on her best Goblin seducing voice. The goblin stopped and gawked into the shadows for a moment, tilting his fat head questioningly.

"PSSST, I've got something for you..." It needed to sound inviting and non-threatening, but Bow was actually struggling mimic a female Goblin, let alone sound seductive. To her, it sounded downright ridiculous.

With a satisfied grunt the Goblin, straightened his armour and jauntily strutted around the back of the garbage pile. He stood to dumbstruck at the sight of seeing Bow instead of some comely Goblin wench, but in that second Bow moved, and she moved fast.

Without hesitating she slammed her hand over the goblin's mouth in her hand and drove her knife into his heart, letting out a pitiful whimper, he sank to the floor and went limp.

Working as quickly as should could before the Goblin's corpse started to seize up, Bow pulled off his breastplate and helmet, strapping the poorly forged steel onto her chest she pulled up her hood before shoving the helmet on. The breast plate was loose over her coat but the helmet was actually a good fit, though it reeked of rotten meat. Lastly shoving the sword through her belt, and sucking in a determined breath, she jumped out of her hiding place, running along the gangway to join the others.

She matched their gaits; her heart hammered in her chest as Bow strode and hopped on all fours, dragging her knuckles like they did. She twitched her head and let out annoyed snorts when another goblin would bump into her. For their part they didn't pay much attention to her. Suddenly, they halted in front of a large crudely forged steel cage cage.

The Company were alive and kicking, wriggling and fighting to get to their feet. A painful lump rose in her throat; was it relief, pride, she didn't know but a nervous tension escaped her body and she sagged under the weight of this alien emotion. For annoying bastards, they were a sight for sore eyes.

The largest Goblin shrieked an order she couldn't understand and the goblins around her got to work, dragging and hauling the struggling dwarves to their feet. Bow followed silently, stealthy keeping tucked out of sight behind Gloin's elbow. The red bearded dwarf was swearing and cursing like a demon, throwing punches left right and centre; Bow had to duck as he tried to elbow her in the nose.

The rest of the dwarves were struggling and fighting too, Nori head butted a goblin who was grappling with Ori, to her left Dwalin was using his superior strength by picking up the Goblins and using them like bowling bowls, Kili and Fili were stood back to back, wrestling with two large grey goblins who gripped their shoulders with meat hook sized paws. But the King had the worst of it; he was surrounded, being targeted on all sides, each goblin revelling in causing Thorin pain. The patrol's commander came forward, picked Thorin up before slamming him against the wall. Air whooshed out of his lungs, and Bow could see he visibly paled.

Finally they were rounded up and all pushed to their feet and propelled forward, down a long fragile gangway that swayed precariously under their weight.

The group entered a large area like an arena wide and open, it looked out on the dark canyon beneath them and the towering, matchstick structures of the Goblin city above them. But standing at the very center was a great throne, made of granite and the bones of men and elves and dwarves alike, any poor soul who had wondered to close to the mountain.

And there Gorkil sat fat and hideous, his slobbering mouth making his sagging neck wobbling grotesquely. He coughed and wiped slimy green mucous on one of his minions, his beady eye watching hungrily as the Dwarves were brought forth.

Bow's heart was in her throat as they approached: there were goblins everywhere. They crowded and pushed at each other to get a better look at Thorin and Company; she was barely able to keep with them. There was a bellow and greedy searching hands come forward, snatching up the dwarves weapons.

She took this relatively quiet moment to do a head count: Oin and Gloin in front of her, Dwalin and Balin to her right; Nori, Ori and Dori; Bombur and Bofur at the front holding Bifur back by the elbows, Kili and Fili were at the far front staring at the Goblin King with distain. Thorin was surrounded protectively by the rest of the Company, his dark head barely visibly for Bow over Dwalin massive shoulders. But the Hobbit was nowhere to be seen.

WHERE WAS BILBO?! WHERE WAS THE BURGLAR?!

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?" his gravelly voice boomed and silenced the Goblin city, tension and anticipation was so thick in the air, Bow could almost taste it.

"Spies, thieves, assassins?" Gorkil probed, standing up from his throne to his full height, he towered above them. Standing nearly twice as tall as the cave trolls had, he looked down on them with distain and suspicion.

"Dwarves, your malevolence," the goblin commander responded, lowering his head respectfully "We found them on the front porch."

"Well don't just stand there; search them! Every nook, every crack." Gorkil stamped his massive club like foot making the fragile platform quake as the Goblins jumped to their work.

The dwarves stood, defiant and determined not to flinch, as Goblin hands roughly searched through their clothing. If she was in their position she wouldn't have acted with such composure, Bow almost shuddered at the thought of Goblin hands on her.

When all the weapons had been removed, the goblins then bound their hands mercilessly tight, using the coarsest of rope to tie their wrists and as the Gorkil began to speak.

In the background Bow heard the Goblin King begin to speak again. "What are you doing in these parts? Speak!" His voiced rose maniacally when none of the dwarves answered. It was then Bow move noiselessly amongst the dwarves, using their shadows and the tightly compacted space to hide her movements. Without a sound, she pressed her hands against Dwalin's wrists, stilling him as he flinched and carefully sliced through his bonds. His back and shoulders tensed as his hands were freed, as if fighting the urge to look round.

As Gorkil began to speak again, Bow rose to her tip toes and roughly grabbed a handful of his coarse hair, pulling his head back to look at her.

"Answer the king Dwarf scum!" her voice was a barely audible growl, mimicking a goblins. Then rising her visor just enough so he could she her eyes, she whispered urgently in his ear: "Be prepared to move, watch for my signal."

"Very well, if they will not talk, I will make them squawk! Bring up the bone breaker, start with the youngest." Gorkil gestured to one of his minions, who scuttled away to the sounds of cheering of the rest of his followers.

Bow had to move fast she moved to Gloin, capturing his wrists with her hands, he struggled a little but was quickly silenced by a shove from Dwalin. And so she moved on, quickly through the group, all giving knowing nods to each other as she worked, until only the three at the front needed to be freed; Kili, Fili and Ori.

"Wait!" Thorin bellowed his voice deep and commanding as ever. Bow watched in annoyance and froze as Thorin pushed past her roughly and stood alone in front of the Company.

"Well, well, well' Look who it is, Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror, king under the mountain." The Goblin king bowed mockingly, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Oh, wait, I am forgetting- you don't have a mountain, which makes you nobody really." Malice and spite contorted Gorkil's features as he watched, enjoying the anger that spread through Thorin's body.

Bow was covered in cold sweat, her eyes darting in all directions in case any of the Goblin's saw what she was doing, the nervous tension of the dwarves pressed against her as she cautiously moved forward to free the last members of the Company.

They were stood shoulders touching, Kili scowled with dark defiance while Fili watched protectively over Thorin in front. Bow went to Fili first, gently touching his elbow and then his wrist, he tensed and straightened his back, Kili shot him a worried look and then growled at Bow's goblin disguise. Dori stumbled forward "accidently", grabbing at Kili's arm and giving him subtle shake of his head. Kili's eyes widened then turned back, straight as a pole, towards Thorin.

Bow was beginning to feel eyes on her and she became aware of how exposed she'd become, sticking out away from the rest of the Goblins. In a rash move, she grabbed the back of Kili's neck and shoved his head towards the ground. "Show some respect little dwarf!" She screamed, her goblin accent high and vicious. The other goblins giggled. The Goblin king's voiced drowned them out as he spoke, Bow used this opportunity to press her body against Kili's back, hiding her movements as she cut at the rope on his hands and allowing her to whisper in his ear.

"Kili, keep very still wait until I give the signal, then get to Thorin's side." If he heard or not she couldn't tell; he didn't react, merely kept his back straight and obstinate.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head, just your head. Perhaps you know of you I speak. An old enemy of yours: a pale Orc astride a white Warg." The goblin king bent so his face was level with Thorin's, his malicious eyes enjoying the dwarf king's silent rage.

"Azog the Defiler would be dead now if he didn't hide in the shadows like a serpent under a rock," Thorin spat, hate permeating every syllable. Gorkil let out a long terrible laugh, his body and pendulous neck swaying as his sides shook.

" He may have hidden himself but his defiling days are far from over." The king gestured to a tiny goblin on a swing, who scribbled down a note before wheeling away into the dark cavern. "The word in Middle Earth is that Azog hunts day and night for the King under the mountain, and the one who murdered his son and heir, a wanderer going by the name of Bow the Traveller." Gorkil paused studying Thorin's face. Bow tensed at the mention of her name, she hadn't used that title in years.

"Now my scouts saw someone in your company carrying a crossbow, a She-Dwarf with a grey hood who decapitated a Warg," he paused for a moment, his beady eyes casting over the group before returning to the King. The Company were frozen; Bow was still as a statue, wild panic running through her.

Thorin's fists clenched white but he didn't move. "I know no one of that nature; your scouts must be mistaken. Female dwarves are rare enough to come by but to decapitate a Warg is a fine gift indeed, we'd be lucky to have such a lady," his words were challengingly, but his eyes glared up to Gorkil tight and stern.

"Here here! I second that!" Bofur shouted, and then all the dwarves cheered madly, slapping each other on the back, shoving Bow gently, giving her conspiring looks. She just stood and stewed in mortification, wanting to disappear into the ground.

Even though the guards shouted and growled at them, they continued to be rowdy, shoving at each other until Fili shoved Ori to hard and he landed sprawled over the mound of weapons, scattering them everywhere. Suddenly the Great Goblin King let a hiss and recoiled as Thorin's glowing blade came out of its sheath.

"I know that blade. It is the Goblin Cleaver! Kill them all, cut off his head!" With an enraged scream, Thorin was dragged to the floor, with a large goblin stood over him, lining up his rusty blade to Thorin's neck. He tried to wriggle free but a massive boot pinned his chest to the ground, he was trapped. The Company screamed and fought for their king but whips and fists rained down on them

Bow moved without thinking. Barging past Fili, she threw her body against the Goblin and dragged him to the ground. The Goblin stared bewildered for a moment, then let out a bellow of rage, trying to pull his sword free but it was implanted tightly, right through her chest. Bow stared down at it in wonder. Miraculously, her breast plate was so big that the sword had passed her by, without even a scratch.

But she didn't stay to ponder the miracle for long, slamming her dagger into the Orc's eye, she leapt to her feet. The Company were wrestling desperately to get to them but with little hope, Bow pulled Thorin to his feet, just as a strong pair of hands grabbed her armour. Moving faster than she thought possible, she tucked in her arms and pulled her head and torso out of the bottom of the breast plate. The Goblin a squealed in surprise: before she stabbed him in the stomach and battered his comrade over the head with the disguarded armour.

Suddenly a blinding light scorched Bow's eyes and, with a whoosh of air and blazing blue light, she was thrown backwards into the air, colliding heavily with Bifur and landing in a sprawled heap as Gandalf's voice boomed over them.

"Take up arms! Fight! FIGHT!" His voice grew into a mad crescendo as he rushed into the fray, slashing at bewildered goblins wildly. The Dwarves sprang to their feet, weapons now grasped tightly in their hands, they stabbed and slashed and fought off the goblins.

Bow was still half blind as she pulled the goblin helmet off her head, using it to knock goblin's skull. All of a sudden, a wheezing curse pierced the air behind her, she whirled about to find a goblin, axe raise over his head ready to strike, if not for the menacing boar spear piercing his chest. The goblin keeled over to reveal Bifur's face grinning madly.

"Much appreciated Bifur." She swiftly inclined her head, before slamming her helmet into another thick skull.

"Yamal!" Bifur's words meant nothing to her but was grinning as he skewering another goblin, so she took them in good faith. The Dwarves were gaining ground- Bombur actually belly bounced a goblin of the platform- and when Thorin raised Orchrist even the Goblin King proved no match for him, letting out a cry of anguish as Gorkil toppled head first of the edge.

But at the sound of the horn sending for reinforcements, Gandalf's deep voice echoed above them "Follow me, quickly!" And so they ran. Ran for their lives.

Goblins rose up everywhere Bow looked, armed only with the two daggers strapped to her hands and the helmet, she smashed skulls and slit throats wildly as they ran. "Faster!" one of the Company called but it was chaos. Bow struggled to keep her feet moving under her; the gangway swayed madly, flesh of dwarf and goblin pressed inwards making it difficult to breathe. Dwalin with his great war hammer cut their path, knocked dozens of goblin's off at a time. Suddenly they came under fire, arrows targeted at Kili, who batted them away with his sword, with more luck than skill. Bow skidded to a stop and in one graceful roly-poly, dropped her battering helmet and dragged her crossbow from her duffle bag, which by some miracle; she managed to hang on to it, straightening up she gave Kili covering fire while he rammed a wooden ladder against their foe.

And then they were running again, sprinting, cutting ropes and throats, following their comrades ahead of them. Thorin batted the goblins away as if they were leaves in the wind. None could get past the King, and none was a worthy opponent for the great warrior dwarf.

The gangway narrowed into a tight bridge and as the neared the far side the Gorkil, the Great Goblin, erupted from the wooden boards, making Gandalf stumble backwards against Nori and Ori.

Gorkil grinned challengingly. "You thought you could escape me," he laughed deeply and without humour.

"And what are you going to do now wizard?" he leered down towards the grey man. Bow saw Gandalf clench his teeth determinedly as he stabbed and slashed, sending Gorkil collapsing on his knees. Dead. The Goblin king's enormous mass sent shock waves through the wood, pulling it away from the rock. Bow instinctively hunkered down and sank her nails into the wooden boards below them; her stomach flip flopped as they free fell down into the darkness, landing with a heavy and painful crash at the bottom of the ravine.

In retrospect, Bow was lucky that she'd been thrown free against the rocks, although she certainly didn't feel lucky at the time. The air was knocked out of her lungs, as she landed against a massive boulder.

"Well, that could have been worse," Bofur's cheery voice called out as she painfully got to her feet and went to stand next to Gandalf. Then Gorkil's body hit them, his crushing weight flattening them. The dwarves cursed wildly and, much to Bow's amusement, Dwalin shouted loudest of all; "You have got to be joking!"

Bow couldn't suppress a loud snort of laughter; Dwalin shot her a nasty glare in response.

"Come on, only day light can save us now!" Gandalf's called urgently as he sprang down the narrow corridor of rock, away from them. The dwarves groaned as they pulled themselves free.

"Can't we just get our breaths back?" Ori panted, with his hands on his knees. Now was really not the time. Grabbing his collar, Bow hauled his shoulders up and pointed to the descending goblins who swarmed towards them like a plague of ants, wave after wave, hunting them.

"Yes of course, maybe the goblins will even make us crumpets and rub our feet, but will it be before or after they skin us? I really do not know." Her tone was exasperated but her pulse was racing as once again they were running Bow dragged Ori by his cardigan, his brothers flanking them closely.

Bow could hear the snapping of jaws at her heels, as her legs began to tire but with one last effort she could see sunlight. Glorious sunlight seeping into the darkness of the mountain's belly. It gave her hope, making her run faster until heat bathed her face and she tumbled down a very steep grassy hill, then landed in a heap, panting and shaking from exertion with all the Company safely surround her.

All except one. "Where is Bilbo? Where is our Hobbit?" Gandalf's words were painfully clear. They had lost Bilbo. A fist sized lump formed in her throat preventing any words coming out. Not that she had anything to say, Bow merely crouched on the ground and sank her bloody nails into the dry grass.

"Where is our Hobbit!?" Gandalf cried in anguish, searching around the Company who looked bewildered.

"Curse that halfing, now here's lost," Gloin exclaimed loudly, throwing his hands in the air.

"I thought he was with Dori," Balin called out, stroking his white beard with concern.

"Don't blame me!" Dori retorted violently. Gandalf turned to Dori, his eyes quivering with desperation and worry.

"Well, where did you last see him?" his voice had lost all anger now, being replaced with tiredness and anguish.

"I think I saw him slip away when we were first collared," Nori piped up, his pointed hair a dishevelled mess.

"Tell me what happened exactly?" Gandalf was almost frantic now; Bow looked up at Gandalf and caught his eye.

"I didn't see him. I was with the Dwarves from when they were let out of the cage to now, I didn't see him at all," her words were methodical and stern but then a thought hit her and wild hope surged through her. "What if he never fell, he may be still in the mountains..." She sprung to her feet, all fatigue replaced with adrenaline.

"I'll tell you what happened, Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since he stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing our Hobbit again." Thorin's cold eyes and stern words were directed at Bow. Her body felt like it was collapsing inwards at his words, a dead weight hit her shoulders and face paled, turning to a cold grey. "He is long gone." The king's words were heavy with finality and the Company shifted uncomfortably.

"But what if he's still in there; he could be injured or trapped. We cannot just leave him." Bow's words escaped her mouth but they were half hearted, lacking conviction. Thorin had always disliked the Hobbit, that much had always been clear to Bow, but she never thought he'd harm him. Was this just the excuse he needed to be rid of Bilbo?

Thorin stepped down from his high rock and placed a hand on her shoulder she was too tired to shrug him off. His stern blue eyes looked firmly down at her. "You have always had too much faith in him. He misled you into believing in him. I am sorry, but he has left." His words would have felt like a punch to the gut, if she had not watched Bilbo miraculously pop out just over Thorin's shoulder.

"No, he hasn't," Bilbo stated dryly, he was filthy, covered in... Well that didn't bare thinking about but Bow had never been so happy to see the Little Bastard!

Gandalf exclaimed happily and Bilbo grinned, clapping some members of the Company on the back. "Bilbo, we'd given you up," Kili beamed down at the Hobbit.

"How did you get past the Goblins?" Fili was more practical, like his uncle, but Bow could see the grin hiding under his beard.

Bilbo shifted his feet awkwardly, sinking his hands into his pockets. Bow grinned brazenly at the Burglar, her cheeks curling up to her crinkled eyes, before turning and raising a challenging eyebrow sadistically at Thorin.

The Kings face was bewildered and awed at the same time. "I want to know, why did you come back?" His voice was hushed but the Company strained to listen. Bilbo sucked in a breath and licked his lips, thinking of the right words to say.

"I know you doubt me, you always have. And you're right, I do often think of BagEnd." He paused and raised his hands and shrugged. "I miss my books, and my armchair and my garden." He let out a long breath and looked to Bow; she nodded approvingly for him to continue. "See that's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back because you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back, if I can." As Bilbo finished, he puffed out his chest and bounced a little on the balls of his feet.

Thorin tipped his head slightly, swallowing all words that didn't seem to want to come out and kicked at the dirt under his boots. Apologies didn't come easy to him and surprises were even harder to deal with, so words escaped him, for the Hobbit seemed to have pleasantly surprised him.

Master Baggins looked up to see Bow standing in the midst of the others, grinning broadly at him. Suddenly she strode towards him, hands out stretched for a hug, but at the last second decided better of it, and gave his a strong and warm handshake instead.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again, you hear me?" She couldn't keep the warmth from her voice as she scolded him, every time she tried to be stern her face curled into a smile again.

"It is good to see you again," Bilbo chortled, trying to wipe some of the grime out of his hair. Bow was let out a long sigh and was quite for a moment, until mirth crinkled her eyes.

"Oh your poor buttons Bilbo, what are we going to do with you? How very inconvenient," she said with amusement, taking one of the corners of Bilbo's waist coat and tugging it gently.

They weren't out of the woods yet. Suddenly the air filled with eerie cries and howls of a Warg pack in the distance.

The hunt was on, and they were the prey. Bow stepped back from Bilbo and let out a frustrated bellow of rage.

"Can't we have five minutes of peace!? For Aüle sake, do you have nothing better to do," On the brink of exhaustion and lack of sleep made her cranky, but the dwarves were too busy scrambling for weapons to take much notice. But above the chilling howls, Gandalf and Thorin's voices were loud and clear.

"Out of the frying pan-"

"And into the fire."

Fiery air clawed at her throat, escaping from her mouth with a dry rasp. She panted, firing arrows at the beasts descending upon them.

It was a scene straight from one of her nightmares. The Warg's eyes glinted, white foam streaming from their mouths, teeth as sharp as razor, shining beneath like ebony; they looked like Hellhounds from the very pit itself.

Bow was quick and nimble for her size, she darted ahead of the others, taking shelter behind anything she could find, providing the fleeing Company with covering fire. But no matter how many arrows sank into Warg flesh, she could never really hinder the ever coming onslaught.

She ground her teeth and reached behind her into her duffle to reload. Realisation swept over her like icy water, she was out of arrows. Letting out a roar of frustration, she threw down her crossbow and sprinted along with the others.

It was a good weapon, but was heavy to carry and with no bolts, it was useless. She now had only four knives that stood in the way of death; the two daggers still strapped to her hands were all but blunt from the mountain climb, and the others were tucked unhelpfully away in her jerkin and boot.

She didn't need to see the Wargs advancing; she could smell them on the air and hear the padded thumps of their heavy paws. She'd prayed that all the dwarves would survive goblin town and the evil Goblin king, and by some miracle they had, but as predicted, fate had other ideas; she had saved the dwarves and now she'd have to watch them die, no matter how hard she'd fought to protect them. Fate was a bitch!

And it just keeps getting better, doesn't it. The ground abruptly ended and fell away, leaving them staring down a thousand meter drop. Dwalin let out a panted curse and Bilbo cried in anguish, but there was no time for Bow to agree.

"To the trees!" an urgent voice commanded, Bow was dragged towards a large oak, pulling Bilbo along with her. She stopped, locked her fingers together and held them out for Bilbo.

He shuffled a bit. "Ladies fir-"

"Age before beauty," she growled angrily through her teeth, Bilbo's eyes widened and he climbed up, helping Bow up after him.

The Company were trapped, nowhere to go but the cliff below and the snapping jaws of the Wargs in front. Correction: it was not just a Warg pack, it was an army. Bow wouldn't have been able to count them, even if she'd had all the time in the world.

The beasts' red eyes beamed scarlet in the moonlight, lying like a blankets of embers on the ground. They snapped feverishly at their heels. Bow slashed back at them with her dagger, the others on the bottom branches doing the same.

One evil beast with muddy brown fur glared directly up at Bow and roared. Bow merely roared back, throwing all her anger and hate in one long loud bellow. The Warg's wicked eyes faltered a little, before narrowing into a snarl. The Warg bitch started throwing her body against the oak's withered trunk, it shivered and shook, and begun to rock as its roots ripped apart in the ground.

A howl rose in the air as other beast did the same, throwing their massive bodies against the old trees until they began to topple like dominos. Bow was barely able to fling herself across to the next tree before the first crashed to the floor, but soon that too began to sway, so the Dwarves jumped into the air again. Until the Company found themselves on the very edge of the crumbling cliff, rubble and jagged rocks on one side, Warg's on the other.

Gandalf and the Dwarves in the top most branches began to throw flaming pine combs, throwing potent, blinding smoke into the air, but it did little to deter the beasts. Some shied away from the brilliant flames but for the most part the heat merely scorched their matted fur, making them angrier as they prowled behind the growing wall of flame.

Suddenly, somewhere, far above them Thorin cursed wildly, as the sound of snapping and creaking filled the air. The tree shuddered and groaned, finally tilting sickeningly over the edge. Bow slammed her eyes shut and locked her heels together around the branch, as the world swung and the ground far, far below danced in front of her eyes.

The branch swung wildly, as her weight crashed into it, Bow dug her nails into the rough bark to gain purchase. Next to her, Bilbo let out a sharp cry as bark peeled away under his hands and making his body start to slip, without thinking Bow tore off the binding of her daggers and stabbed it through the sleeve of Bilbo's coat, pinning him in place. The Hobbit hung for a moment, relief passing over his face before terror returned.

The Warg's began to part, like a boat parting the waves of the sea, the white Orc drew closer, eyes beaming like coals from hell, skin as pale as a dead man's flesh, soul as black as night: Azog the Defiler. His albino Warg snarled and spat, making the others cower back in fear and respect, it looked up at the Dwarves with hungry eyes and it licked its lips.

A scream died in Bow's mouth, horror mixing with pure hatred, to make a potent poison, but every muscle welded her to the stop as his cruel voice rose above the crash of falling trees and howls of the Warg below them.

"Do you smell it*?" Hoarse and cruel, Azog's cold voice taunted: as his scarred face stared into the dense foliage of the tree. He bared his teeth a little, sucking in air into his grey lipless snout.

"The scent of fear-" Azog paused enjoying the terrified silence and soaking in the power that he commanded over them, "- I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin son of Thrain."

There were hushed plies from behind her, and the fragile tree began to shake as Thorin rose, his feet well placed on the tree's trunk, his wild mane of black hair blowing in the hot gust of wind. Azog growled and his cruel mouth curled into a snarl, his body tensed with anticipation and he flicked out his forked tongue, as if savouring the meal to come.

"This one is mine, kill the others," the Orc next to Azog nodded its ugly head, as Azog growled with cold malevolence, he could almost taste the blood of the king, much like his Grandfather's, it would be bitter but rich.

The timbre shook and the branches trembled, as Thorin's heavy foot falls hit the tree's bark. The Company shouted and tried to grasp at his coat tails, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. The King was lost in rage, his clenched jaw was steel and his stare promised Armageddon. He roared like a beast unleashed from the gates of hell, as he sprinted through dust and flame. All the fallen trees like torches, blazing with light.

Azog let out a satisfied snarl, waving his vicious mace above his head, and urging his white Warg onward. Both warriors charged, teeth bared and eyes shining with adrenaline. Thorin raised Orchrist and swung his sturdy oak shield, preparing to bludgeon Azog off his mount but his stroke never fell. The Company could only watch in horror, as Azog and the White Warg bowled Thorin over with one remorseless swing of his mace, the Warg landing its front paws straight against the King's chest, punching the air from his lungs and splintering his ribs.

Azog patted his Warg with surprising gentleness. The Prince cried out as the animal's muzzle circled his torso, sinking her teeth deep into Thorin's chest. His body was shaken and thrown high into the air, with a tight jerk of the beast's massive head. The King under the Mountain landed with a heavy, bone shaking thud and was still.

A cold and chilling laugh pierced the air like an arrow, spending painful chills down Bow's spine. Azog turned to one of his lackeys and growled something under his breath. They cackled and one dismounted and marched over to Thorin, his blade glinting tauntingly in the surging flames.

Something burst into crystal clarity like a moth silently being consumed by flame; Bow was overcome with emotions she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years. She'd allowed herself to care, and laugh, and trust the Prince who had been brought to his knees by life and by Azog. He'd fought tooth and nail for everything he had, and she wasn't going to let him give up now.

Adrenalin raged through her veins, as she pulled herself up onto the branch. It swayed under her feet a little, but she didn't care. She heard the others gasp and as they tried to pull themselves up but the branches were flimsy; Dwalin's snapped under his weight, so all he could do was shout out and hold on.

Before she fully understood what she was doing, Bow pulled Bilbo on to the branch, before grabbing her two remaining blades from her boot and inside her jerkin. She tore away the bindings on her hands with her teeth, so that the sharp dagger sat snugly in her fist and handed the other to Bilbo, who stared bewildered by her actions.

"Bilbo, help Thorin!" Words spilled out of her mouth, but her eyes were crystal clear and determined, her nails bit into Bilbo's hand as she pressed the knife into his palm.

"What...how I am..?!" The Hobbit blinked at her for a second, but suddenly under her bright gaze, his spine strengthened and his fist closed around the dagger hilt.

"Do what would I do." As she said her words, she sprang from the tree, landing on her knees she bounded into the wall of flame the metallic hiss, as Bilbo unsheathed Sting.

Azog looked on as Bow advanced; the world was quiet except for the throbbing of her heart and the pounding of her feet. A Warg rider nudged his animal forward a little, delighting in the sight of Thorin unconscious, he blocked her shot at Azog but it matted not. She was merely the catalyst; Bilbo was the blade.

Leaping into the air, Bow used the downward momentum of her body to thrust her dagger deep into the Warg's neck, withdrawing her fist, dragging the blade back along its flesh before pivoting, tossing her blade in the air and neatly catching it by the handle and implanting it deep in the rider's chest. Both beasts whined, staggered, collapsing in a cloud of ash and dust.

Azog looked aghast, his grey lipless mouth hung open and gawked, he and his pack sat in stunned silence.

"Well, now that I've got your attention, let's have a little heart to heart." Her words were cool and collected but her body was coiled tight like a spring, dipped in a fighting stance, she stared right into Azog's eye, silently challenging him: Daring him to make a move.

Suddenly Azog's face turned animal, contorting in rage and turning wild, neck and shoulder muscles contracted like rope as he threw his head up to the dark empty sky above, his mouth foamed white as he screamed words. "Drink her blood!"

From the corner of her eye she saw Bilbo stabbing an Orc through its chest. Pride swelled within Bow but there was no time to ponder. At the sound of Azog's scream, dozens of Wargs urged forward, hunger glinting madly in their eyes. Bow slashed and stabbed, fending the massive animals away with a storm of parries from her dagger. The animals and riders cried out and fell back under her unrelenting blows, every stab and blow was like the sweetest nectar to her, it fed the fire of her anger. But soon they formed a solid impenetrable circle, the Orc pack stood on the bodies of their fallen comrades, Bow was flanked on all sides by teeth and blades.

Orcs and Wargs paused, chests rising and falling as they panted, teeth glinting in the moonlight, they waited. Waited with bated breath.

"Come on! Cowards!" Bow screamed stabbing a Warg through the top of its skull. It shuddered and sank to the floor; its rider shrieked in fear and dragged itself back through the ranks. Another Warg replaced it. Suddenly the lines parted and the Pale Orc strutted forward, his massive head raised high as it peered down at her with distain. The line closed behind him as he moved towards her into the center of the circle.

"You have courage. Like Thorin son of Thrain, you fight even when you know you cannot win." He spoke in the Western tongue, his words crawled over her skin like a living thing, she held her dagger tighter, watched his movements as they stepped around each other, never letting him get at her back.

"The Ranger reeked of fear as I ran him through; you may not fear death, but you should fear me!" His voice rose to a maniac crescendo, insanity glinting in his red eyes like embers in a fire. He launched himself at her, arms wide trying to catch her round the middle with his mace. Bow dropped to the floor and rolled out of reach, slashing at the Warg that snapped at her and springing to her feet to face him.

"Bolg cried when I killed him. He struggled and whined how his father would come to rescue him. I ripped his throat out with a rusty knife and he shat his self." The emotionlessness of her words was chilling and sterile. Bow kept a stoic face on, even though inside her heart was hammering so fast it may burst, but she enjoyed the pure fierce rage that washed over Azog's animal like face.

He rushed her again. She prepared to dart out of reach but Azog swung his torso down and pummelled his fist into her face. Bow flew backwards, landing on an Orc who pushed her forwards onto her knees. She was on her feet before Azog saw her hit the ground, she charged him, pushing him backwards. The crowd parted for them, they revealing the sharp edge of the cliff peak and the deep drop below. Landing, her feet pressing down mercilessly onto his chest, Bow raised her knife high, ready to strike when strong hands grabbed her wrists and hair, hauling her into the air.

She involuntarily screamed in pain, but her throat snapped shut as Azog's grey claw like hand closed around her throat. His face had cold blooded murder written all over it, a smile crossing his features as he dug nails into her flesh.

"The time for revenge is now," he said in a hushed growl, Bow's eyes began to darken and flicker as she fought and kicked, but all was no use.

Suddenly two things happened at once. From the far side of the circle, Orcs began to screech and a frenzied murmur ran through the ranks as they fell under the Dwarves blades. The Company charged into the fray like possessed animals, everything was disarray, and everything was chaos. Kili and Fili whirled and fought like the Kings they were, letting loose long and powerful war cries as they battled to reach their uncle, Balin behind them swinging his long blade. But Dwalin it was, most of all who carved a path through the Orcs like a hot knife through butter. Azog's head snapped to look behind and he let out a frustrated snarl.

At the very same moment, Bow used the last ounce of her strength to plant her feet against Azog's broad chest and neck. Landing a vicious kick to his ear, Bow pushed herself away, out of his grasp. His nails raked long gashed down her neck, but she didn't care.

Bow was falling, leaving the battle Azog was pushed backwards to the ground and the Orc pack began to retreat.

They would be safe. It was a comforting thought that filled her as she left the smoky world behind and plummeted down towards the rocky one below.


	14. Blood and the Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl, the warrior, the badass !
> 
> Bow's final flash back

Blood and the Name  
The air was thin and the rain was cold on Girl's face as they made their way up into the cloud bank. It was unusually cold for April; Girl pulled her jerkin closer to her body and tightened her belt.

Smike's breathe wheezed loudly and he cursed his old bones, as they both turned into another deep valley of the Misty Mountain's. Girl smiled to herself, silently enjoying his discomfort, and taking pride in the fact that she was now stronger than him, smarter too and every bit as deadly .

"You could help me Girl! You owe me your life, let us not forget who pulled you out of that freezing water," Smike's gravelly voice rasped, barely audible over his panted breaths. Girl bit down hard on her tongue until metallic blood filled her mouth…

Yes you saved my life, and you've never let me forget it.

She reached back to the old man and hauled him roughly up the steep incline by the collar of his leather coat. He hawked and spat, hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath.

After four weeks travelling in the Etton Moors, gathering and pulling gently at his web of contacts, had revealed to Smike that Dace had gone into hiding after the incident with the Northern Rangers. Apparently, whether it coincidence or not, a number of Smike's old comrades had mysteriously disappeared in circumstances unknown.

Now Dace was many things; Ranger, thief, spy, and opportunist: but brave he was not. As soon as the rumour about strangers from the North searching for colleagues of Smike had reached his ears, he went underground.

But eventually they had found him. Placing some coins into the right fists had paid off: they had a tip off.

"Yous' ever heard of the Drunken Nun?" the shifty character glanced nervously down the dark alley, shuffling his feet in the mud and dragging a hand through his dreadlock beard.

"Aye: I've heard of it," Smike leaned closer to the character, his head bent to listen to the nervous whisper. Girl lent against the wall opposite, cleaning her nails with a dagger, looking darkly at the character who eyed her anxiously.

"Well, go and ask the Barman for a man named Kendrick, he'll tell you where Dace is," the man shifted to grab gold the coin which Smike held glinting in the moonlight. But Smike pulled his hand away and grabbed the man by the neck.

"You gave me shit! Come back with where Dace or don't come back at all," Smike snarled and slammed the man's head against the wall. The man paled, cold sweat pooling on his face.

"And remember, you double cross me; I let the dwarf have her wicked way with you, and trust me when I say she's handy with that knife," Smike grinned as the man's eyes rested on Girls face, half hidden in shadow, steel catching the moonlight and steam rising from her frozen breathe.

Warehouse 23 in the Bree industrial district. The Intel proved solid but for all the only metal the man saw for his trouble was the steel his ribs: as Smike shoved his sword hilt deep into the man's lungs.

Dace was a fat man, balding and sweating like a pig, in the dim candle light of the warehouse; but he had a strong arm as he hurled his mace at Smike's head.

"Son of a Balrog!" he snarled lurching to his feet, red faced from drink and over consumption. But for all the hatred and ill feeling Dace held for Smike, he was a businessman first and for most, and the business offer Smike had was too good to pass up.

Their old heads hunched together as they whispered conspiringly with each other. Girl watched from the corner, perched on the corner of an old crate, listen to the feint murmurs of their lecherous whispers.

One of Dace's minions produced a map of the Misty Mountains, detailing the route they were to take.

"There is a dwarfish emissary in two weeks from the Iron Hills taking the deep pass, they carry an illustration of friendship and offer allegiance to the Dwarves of Ered Luin," Dace stated, taking a swig of his ale.

"An 'illustration of friendship' you say, I presume it's the shiny golden kind or else why would we be bothering," Smike grinned with glee at the thought at their prize.

"I am reliably informed that if we pull this off, we'll be set for life. Our robbing days are over, we can retire comfortably with silk sheets and a warm whore in our beds at night," Dace smirked and chortled, ale dripping down his greasy beard and onto his stained brown tunic.

"Did your reliable informant say how many dwarves they'd be?" Smike asked, leaning back and stroking his chin.

"Twenty to twenty-five, but I know you are tricky and clever Smike, you will find a way to deal with them," Dace smiled darkly at Smike, refilling his own goblet then his companions.

"And the cargo, do you expect me to drag all the way back to this place?" Smike snapped: drink had brought out his short temper.

"'Coarse not, I maybe be old a fat but I'm not so stupid as to trust a rouge like you with a heap of gold. I will have trusted men watching you and to meet you at the foothills of the Misty Mountains. You and the... Dwarf can manage it to there," He smirked, running a hand over his greasy hair, mentally already counting his gold. Then his head snapped in Girl's direction and he raised a bushy eyebrow enquiringly.

"You capable of killing your own kind?" Dace's voice was guided as his studied the stoic female, her face emotionless and flinty.

"You kindin' the Bitch has done far worse than that, aint ya Girl," Smike nearly choked on his ale for laughing, meat and spittle splattering his beard. But Dace didn't welcome the information but merely kept an even closer eye on her from that moment on. For one simple reason; no matter which circles you travel in: to kill your own blood and kin is the foulest of crimes- And Girl was a cold blooded murderer. **

As they were walking, marching towards their quarry: A nameless target that slept quietly in the dead of night. Blatantly unaware that there death was drawing ever closer.

Smike and Girl were crouched low, looking down at the dwarf camp on the pass under them; the dwarf's camp fire burnt to ember but still clouded their eyes with smoke. The wooden wedge was pressed underneath the boulder to their left and smaller limestone rocks surrounding it. A landslide was easy to manufacture and it was easy to finish the disorientated survivors off quickly.

Smike nodded to Girl as he unsheathed his sword, she did the same being careful not to scrape the metal against the sheath. The muscles in her legs benched as she prepared to move but suddenly the air filled with bloody curdling screams. Metal clanged and fire blazed and flared wildly in front of them.

Smike was frenzied eyes sort the noise, edging closer to the edge; he gazed down onto the camp. Blood smeared the cold grey as dismembered bodies littered the ground. Some of the Dwarves had tried to run but they had been cut down swords and axes. In the flickering light of the fire as it danced of the mountain walls, the grey skin of the Orc pack was bleached white and hideous.

Horror pulsed wildly in Girl. Memories engulfed her like blood in a wound, white hot searing hate flared in her as she watched the Pale Orc smash his club into the pleading dwarf: Pale and huge the Orc chuckled and kicked away the broken body.

Smike let out a roar, frenzied and animal, it was as if rage and blood lust had consumed him; and he launched himself on the ridge and down into the campsite, slicing through two Orc's the a downward arc. The Pale Orc snarled and rallied his men forward.

Bow could taste revenge on her tongue, it was so near now, what she had worked for all these long years: Revenge and blood. She smiled as she too leaped of the ridge, landing heavily on two Orc's, breaking their necks as they sprawled on the ground. She swung her sword, catching two more in the chest.

Her small size was an advantage as she dodged In and out of the blades and weapons down on her. She snaked through the tightly packed mob, slashing and hacking until her blade was slick with black oozing blood.

Suddenly a huge Orc rose in front of her blocking her path. He was lean and tall, wiry arms of tattooed blue and a tufty head of dark hair made for immense presence. The Orc let out a rumbled growl and bared his pointed teeth, still scarlet from the massacre before. Girl roared back in response, slamming the butt of her sword into his head.

The animal stumbled back a little before charging again, arcing his blade toward her chest. She ducked and rolled out of his reach, then pivoted back and slammed her blade through his calf, skewering it in place. He screamed in agony and slumped to his knees. His companions were too shocked to move, they watched their blades still dripping with blood, forming a makeshift semi-circle around them.

The Orc tried to raise his blade again but Girl hacked into his shoulder until her blade hit bone.

She was toying with him, playing with his dying moments, enjoying his pain but it only fed the fire of her hatred she had for the Pale Orc, who roared and bellowed as he tried to push his way through the tight crowd.

"Bolg!" The Pale Orc's rage could be heard in his echoing voice and the blazing of his red eyes. Girl grinned broadly, watching the Pale Orc she advanced on the kneeling Orc before her, and withdrawing her knife she grabbed his hair and raised her knife high.

The blade gleamed in the fire light and the Orc shivered and made a noise of protest but her eyes were watching the Pale Orc. He would feel the pain she had felt and know the hatred of her heart. So she sank her blade deep within his neck, scarlet blood spraying wildly, as she dragged the serrated edge along the flesh until she gave a final twist and raised the severed head into the air: tossing it at the Pale Orc's feet.

There was a steely silence, only broken by the pounding of her blood in her ears and the panting of Smike at her elbow. The Pale Orc's face was a mask of fury, as if nothing would ever cool his anger.

"What is your name?" an icy voice crawled out the Orc's mouth, barely audible in the Common tongue. For a moment she was too stunned to speak; in the Furor of battle her mouth was dry with dust and bile.

Her name, she hadn't had a name for years; it was what had made her human. She hadn't been human for decades. But names were needed in life, like air and food they were needed. She wasn't Damson anymore she was too innocent, she wasn't Girl anymore she hadn't been human: no, she was a weapon of the future. New, sturdy, she would deliver the vengeance and justice that was deserved.

"I am Bow the Traveller and I shall be your doom!" She voice echoed of the mountains and seemed to soak into the air, strong and powerful her voice shook the Orc at his very foundations.

"Don't listen to her, Bitch's is mad!" Smike harried cry seemed to shatter the stillness, everything moved at once. The Orc's parted and the Pale Orc surged forward, swinging his clawed stump at her head but another Orc pushed forward, colliding with Smike, pushing him forward into the Pale Orc's path. Smike screamed and spun at the force of the blow.

Bow saw her opportunity, as Smike fell and the Pale Orc stumbled, she grabbed Smike's belt and threw them both over the side of the cliff. The enraged cries of the Orc pack reseeded behind them.

For Bow the world spun uncontrollably as they rolled down the steep incline, air was punched out of her lungs as she landing on her back on a mountain ledge. Smike was next to her and cried out in pain, blood pooled from his hip and his wrinkled face had drained of blood. But they couldn't stay, they were now being hunted.

Bow got unsteadily to her feet and tried to pull Smike to his feet but he pushed her away.

"Leave me damn it, I'm done!" He snarled through the pain, his hand clamped over his hip.

"We've got to move; they will hunt us and kill us!" Bow snarled back, making to grab at him again, but he still pulled away.

"I'm dead anyway," he shouted, bloody spit splattering over his chin. She didn't know why she bothered or even cared, but being human meant responsibilities to others and Smike was all she had. There was no feeling of warmth or comfort, defiantly an underlying hate for the man but decades can make a person familiar to you.

"Yes, you're dead anyway but would you prefer death by your wounds or a slow and painful death at the hands of the Orcs and Wargs, your choice?" She glared down at the old man who had been her tormentor and was surprised that she felt pity, an empty and cold pity you feel for a dying animal.

"Damn it, I preferred when you was a mute," he moaned, stumbling to his feet, leaning heavily on Bow's side as they disappeared into the deep depths of the Misty Mountains. ***

It was night when they finally made it out of the Misty Mountains. Bow had travelled them many times, following Smike, as they made their way safely through the dark and winding passes of the goblins. Smike knew them all, knew the secret, hidden ways that hadn't been used in centuries, his knowledge was vast and varied: he knew every inch of unchartered rock in Middle Earth and used his knowledge to deadly affect. Raiding and attacking parties in the dead of night and using his secret trails to disappear into the wilderness again.

But now it was different, the tables had turned and Bow's world had once again turned head over heels. She was leading now, using her mind's eye to find the paths they and used years ago. Smike leaned heavily on her, his face grey and grim, the sheen of sweat on his brow. His eyes were half closed and he mumbled and twitched his mind half lost to fevered pain and hallucinations.

Bow set the man down on the softest bit of stone she could find and let out a long exhausted breath, her body ache from having to carry his weight and the long walk, but she couldn't rest. Smike had started to shiver and spasm, moaning and swearing under his breath, while Bow gathered fire wood.

When the fire was blazing bright and danced off Smike's skeletal face, casting long shadows down his hallow cheek bones. It was a disconcerting moment of peace that let her think for a moment, collecting the past events into a linear string of memory. The years she had spent hiding, fighting and killing had all amounted to what? Smike was dying. Her tormentor and jailer and mentor, who taught her how to be a villain and a murderer was fatally wounded. The cut reeked badly, no doubt he had ruptured his spleen or bowels, it was already festering, Bow could smell it: and soon it would putrify. He was a walking corpse.

And what then for her? She would survive, she always had, always would, but to what purpose. Smike at first had provided protection for her and then a purpose but now what would she do? Wander aimlessly until something presented itself to her.

What would a person do? She thought she was a person; no longer an animal, no longer a mute: Bow Traveller. It was a strong name, good and sturdy as a name can be. She didn't know many names, apart from Smike and Dace; the ones she had known had been lost to the sands of time. So she thought of familiar things, things she knew well; Smike's sword was to sharp and cold, dagger was useful but didn't have character and mace was savage. No, Bow was just right, supple, natural, swift: it delivered death quickly and namelessly, judge, jury and executioner.

Bow Traveller: Nor Damson, not Girl, Bow. She liked the name.

But her thoughts were cut short as the heavy thunder of horse hooves surrounded them. Smike opened his eyes and with effort pressed his finger to his lips, stilling her sudden movements. They both listened as the riders came nearer and excited voices rose. Suddenly he made a frantic gesture with his hand, shooing her away. Bow took the hint, diving under the nearby undergrowth for cover.

From her hiding place she watched as four riders emerge into the camp, their horses frothing at the mouth and rolling their white eyes wildly. The riders were elves, tall and elegant, Bow had never seen long blond hair like it, and all four had almost silver blond hair that shone under the moon, their translucent skin showing the veins pulsating underneath.

But there was something wrong with them, they were wrong somehow: Bow could sense it in the aura that surrounded them. It was red and seething.

"Oh thank the gods! Please you have to help," Smike begged, beckoning them with open arms, his face pale and sweaty with pain.

The elves looked at him and laughed, coldly and without humour, their glinting oddly in the firelight. They started to chatter amongst themselves in a language Bow had never heard, it was elegant and lyrical, but something in their voices chilled her to the bone.

"Please, I am wounded, I need medicine," Smike looked about the anxiously, trying to sit up on his elbows, but cried out in pain as infected black blood spilled from the wound. Only then did the elves take notice. A female went to Smikes side and whispered soothingly to him in elfish, wiping his brow with her hand, stilling his movements. Bow saw Smike smile but her own apprehension was growing by the second.

The other elves were busy; one built the fire up until it rose ten feet in the air, throwing pungent herbs which burned and threw smoke into the air, while the others collected their saddle bags and spread the contense on the ground. Bow tensed and sank her nails into the mud as they spread out a leather swag wrapped around dozens of knives, each one more cruelly shaped than the last.

Suddenly Smike let out a scream as two elves grabbed him and pulled him close to the fire, pinning him to the ground and ripping open his shirt, baring his naked torso to the sky. He fought and screamed all the louder when the chanting began. Herbs were heated over the open flame and then each elf took turns inhaling the intoxicating fumes, their eyes growing impossibly big. Bow wrapped her arm around her mouth just in case the smoke drifted over to her.

As the hours passed she watched in horror, every muscle turned to stone in fear, as the elves went to work on Smike. The hacked at him and laughed as he screamed and struggled, they enjoyed his pain and used every tool they had to assault his body, offering strips of his skin to the fire and to the gods who they were offering tribute. They sang and stabbed and danced and cut, all the time keeping Smike on the brink of life and death, in the painful in between. Over bits of flesh to the fire as dark magic filled the air and surged through them, making them scream in excitement.

Bow closed her eyes in revulsion, nausea ravaging her body; she pressed her face into the ground and her hands over her ears until the sun rose and sounds reseeded. She waited, holding her breath, listening for any noise. There was none, not even a bird call or the rustle of the wind. Cautiously Bow got to her feet, studying her surrounds, the horses had gone and the fire had burned low, the horizon was clear and the sky cloudless. Then crouching low as she moved, across the blood stained ground to Smike's side, his body looked like it had been dragged over broken glass. He opened his eyes to look at her, Bow had to suppress a retch when she saw both his eyes were missing, and his sockets bloody.

"Girl," his voice was hoarse and barely a whisper through his cracked lips, he didn't look at her, but kept his face towards the sky.

"I am here," she stated simply, keeping the revulsion from her voice as she looked at his ruined body. Smike opened his mouth to speak, his lips moving silently as if searching for the words, wheezing slightly and his chest shuddering.

"I need...I need," he words shuddered and rasped painfully, Bow waited patiently. "I need you to kill me," Smike's words didn't shock her but his tears did, they ran down his face and he sobbed like a weeping babe. Bow cleared her throat and began to speak.

"You know what Smike; I will kill you, for I pity you. You are the killer of men and women and children but I am no better. For the atrocities you have committed death is too kind-"he sobbed harder as she spoke but she ignored him, "I am have murdered and killed but least know how to pay justice. You saved my life, now I take yours, we are even." As she finished speaking, she pressed her dagger down over his heart and pushed down, Smike shuddered and died silently.

Standing, Bow looked down at the man she knew and regarded him grimly, then turned to face the rising sun. It was over, this chapter was done, she had found many times that the past could be washed away as easily as one walks away from it. This was one of those times.

Shouldering Smike's duffle bag and weapons, Bow once again marched into the wilderness.


	15. A Desire too far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Badpenny hyperventilating ' *

Distant fire light danced off their bodies as they embraced each other for the very first time as Soulmates.

He was intoxicating. Like hot cider on a cold day, he made her warm and dizzy all in the same second, he made her toes curl and her head spin, the earth swayed under her feet and the room titled.

Thorin pulled back suddenly, Lif gasped and realised that she hadn't breathed for some minutes, to entranced by his mouth to think of anything else but him. His heat left her; it was like being doused with ice, she needed him, his power, and his presence: Thorin smiled as she reached for him, her eyes shining with desperation.

His cheeks had a dark flush as he studied her face, pushing a dark lock of hair out of her eyes. "Lif," pressing his lips against her forehead, he whispered with quiet desperation; every instinct yelling at him to turn back, to flee from her embrace, but his body would not obey.

"Yes Thorin," Lif replied hoarsely, she was barely able to breathe, her heart raced like wild horses across the sky. He pulled back and studied her face, his eyes sparkling with a frightening blue intensity, his large calloused hands rising to cup her face, holding her firmly under his unwavering gaze.

"Lif, listen, I just need you to listen for a moment - " he began, his voice quivering slightly as he spoke.

"Thorin what's...?" Lif interrupted in confusion, anxiety curling in her chest. Thorin pressed his thumb over her lips, stopping her speech.

"I want you to want me; not because it is your duty to flatter me or your duty to your Prince or Lord, not even as a dwarf but as a man wants a women," his voice was low and earnest, but strong and filled with a determination at that could have flattened mountains. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear as he continued to speak. "Let me show you how much I desire you and how much I love you with every fibre of my soul."

Lif was bowled over by his words. No one had ever spoken like that, he was humble, dropping his guarded emotions that he hid behind, letting her see the real dwarf under the Prince's mask. He had let her into his inner most trust, now she must do the same. She licked her lips, trying to find the right words to express herself.

"I didn't save your life out of duty or honour nor did your bidding just because you are my prince. After all, that is just a title really, I did it because I love you, ya' Big Idiot," they weren't eloquent or beautiful like his were, but her words were true and simple, and sometimes the simplest things are the most beautiful of all.

Thorin growled low and husky at her words, wild flames of passion consuming his restraint as he claimed her lips once again, pressing his body against her until he could feel every last inch of her curves against him.

Lif's hands tangled in his hair, knitting her fist into his dark wavy locks as she pulled him harder against her lips. Shivers ran up her spine and her toes curled, every inch of her body crying out for his touch.

So masculine, so powerful, it was as if Aüle herself had blessed him with the grace and power of a timber wolf stalking its prey. He was the predator and she was ready to be devoured.

Heat scorched the Princes body as her hands ran up and down his arms and embracing the bunching tension of his muscles. He moaned deep and desperately as her clever fingers began to unlace the front of his tunic, her nails biting a little against the sensitive flesh of his collar bone.

All the control had fled him, it was as if his body was being consumed by fire, by passion, by hunger to embrace her and know every inch of her. His lips danced along her jaw, nibbling the sensitive flesh, before nuzzling the into the crook of her neck: inhaling her exquisite perfume that bewitched him, he felt her tense and her limbs quiver before she threw her head back and moaned his name, her voice thick with pleasure.

He pulled back and regarded her face; it was flushed pink like it had been in battle, her lips were wet and parted slightly and her eyes sparkled with an intensity that challenged the very stars.

Lif reached for his belt: lust and anticipation building up until she felt it would crash over her. But Thorin caught her hands and held them, Lif winced as little as her bruised wrist smarted, his eyes down cast, he took a reluctant step away from her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rush..." her mind was awash with chemicals and adrenaline, she didn't even know what words were coming out of her mouth, she flushed scarlet with embarrassment.

He turned her bruised wrist over in his hand and studied the cut on her palm: it was red but was beginning to heal. Then met her eyes, every emotion laid bare on his face; his brow crinkled slightly but his features still and tranquil, his warm blue eyes melting away all her doubts- she felt like they welcoming her home.

"I want to savour this," Thorin whispered gently, before pressing his lips to her brow and lacing his fingers with hers. Picking up a nearby candle stick, he led her out the room, closing the library door behind them, and they made their way across the hallway and into his bedroom. Once over the threshold, Thorin released her hand and moved forward to place the candle on the bedside table, in front of his mirror: casting long shadows across the large room.

There was no fire lit in the hearth but it didn't matter, heat radiated from Thorin's skin like a furnace. Lif shuddered at the thought of running her hands over the glorious bounty of tanned flesh, tasting it, smelling the smoky maple and sweet cider- it was enough to make her beg for mercy. But none came.

Thorin stood watching her. His gemlike eyes running up and down her lush body, he stood by the side of the bed and slowly, sinfully, unlaced his belt letting it fall to the floor. Lif fell back against the closed wooden door; her knees buckling slightly as he pulled his blue tunic over his head, exposing the rippling muscles and arms underneath.

Every inch of his torso was strong, tight and powerful, dark chest hair gleaming in the candle light as he advanced on her. He pressed his lower body against hers, so that she could feel his hardened manhood against her stomach. His lips were centimetres from her, his breath blowing wispy hair about her face. She licked her lips and swallowed as the Prince leaned tentatively close, running his tongue over the outer shell of her ear as he locked the door behind her.

"I want to take my time loving you," his deep voice whispered in her ear, sending shivers squirming in her belly and loins, throwing her over the edge.

She threw herself forward, kissing him forcefully and deeply, while her hands roamed over his chiselled chest and back. His body felt better than it looked. Nothing could compare to the heat of his skin; the coarse bounty of hairs covering his biceps or how he moaned her name against her lips.

Her legs gave way as a wave of pleasure hit her, but Thorin caught her and lifting her into his arms, gripping her thighs as with his strong fingers. They moaned in unison as Lif pressed her core against his hardness, using the rise and fall of their kiss to give rhythm to her grinding[N1] . Thorin's knees caught on the side of the bed and both laughed as they tumbled down onto the mattress.

Lif nibbled at Thorin's collar bone but shuddered as he rubbed himself shamelessly against her, she'd never hated being clothed so much in her life. She sat up and began unlacing her bodice, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with her knot.

"Here, let me." Thorin whispered as he kissed her knuckles and moved them away from the string. He made short work of it and watched, transfixed as Lif tugged her dress over her head, exposing her nakedness for the first time. She was pale and strong; her breasts round mountain peaks, her nipples flushed pink like her lips. Thorin had imaged her like this many times, but he had never done her the justice she deserved.

His hands had a mind of their own as they slid up her sides, cupping her shoulder blades and her hip in his hands, and drawing her into her chest. He just needed to feel her skin against his, the coolness of her touch, the sensation of her naked body pressing against his.

She sat up suddenly and gazed down at him, lust burning in her eyes. "My love, we have all the time in the world," she stated as she began to comb her fingers through his hair.

Thorin watched entranced as she methodically unravelled his braids, being careful to set all his clasps aside, so that he could re-braid his hair when they were done. Lif leaned forward a little to study intricate silver clasp held plait behind his ear. But shuddered violently when Thorin took the opportunity to take her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around her hardened peak: and lowered his hand, seeking the hot wetness of her thighs.

Lif threw pack her head in pleasure, knotting her hands into Thorin's hair and cradled his head, as his hand parted her sex and sank deep within her. She could barely move, barely think, as he sent another wave of pleasure through her body with the unrelenting movement of his skilful fingers pushing and harder. Tension built and fire raged within her, desperate for release, Lif placed her hand onto of Thorin's fingers and guided his rhythm.

She could feel his own eagerness, pressing against the leather of his breeches. It took every ounce of will power she had but she pulled away from his touch and sank back to the floor, kneeling between his knees. He sat up with confusion and watched in shocked awe as she unlaced his boots and the slid her hands seductively up his calves and then his thighs. Lif smiled as Thorin's eyes dilated as she slowly unlaced his breeches, releasing his erection: Pulling down the garment clear of his legs so that he was as naked as she.

She gasped a little and bit her lip when she saw the size of him, proud and tall, his shaft was every bit as muscled as his torso.

She ran her tongue over her palm, wetting it, and then reached down to massage his throbbing member with slow, seductive flicks of the wrist. He was hot and sticky as his body got ready to welcome her. Thorin hissed and biting his lips viscously, heat sheared him and his muscles tensed wildly.

He couldn't take it anymore, the temptation; the pleasure was all too great for him. An animalistic growl erupted deep within his chest, as he grabbed her wrists and flung her beside him on the bed, pinning her underneath him.

Lif welcomed him, her legs parting to accept his warm body to her, her ankles instinctively locking around his waist.

Thorin felt her shudder and moan as he cupped her bottom and brushed his shaft tantalisingly against her wetness. Her hair was splayed out beneath her and her arms extended over her head, he watched cautiously as she struggled to maintain her control.

"Please Thorin, I need you," her tone was hoarse and half whispered, her chest rising rapidly as she panted, drawing her breast to his attention more. Without warning Thorin used his superior strength, lifting her into his arms and placed her on his lap, entwining their bodies in a tight embrace. They both shuddered and gasped as she slid on his shaft, Lif clung to him like a raft in a storm as his fullness consumed her and Thorin clang back her welcoming heat sending him reeling.

"My love, you are so wet," he moaned into her hair and Lif began to rise and fall, her speed languid at first then growing in power and speed. They moved as one. Perfect and synchronised.

Sweat coated their skin and sweet juices of love made their movements' slick and fluid. Their lips worked seamlessly, like partners in a dance, their tongues moved rhythmically, teasing as much pleasure as they could.

Thorin braced his hand on her lower back, supporting her as she continued to impale herself on him, heaving herself up and down. The tension coiled within them until it was too much for their bodies to bare.

Lif's threw her head back and cried Thorin's name to the heavens, not caring if anyone heard, dragging her nails down his back, scoring his tanned skin with deep angry welts. While Thorin dug his fingertips into her flesh and held her tight against chest, stars dancing in front of his eyes making his head spin.

They came together, reaching blinding ecstasy then both collapsing to the bed, their bodies still joined: panting in sated satisfaction and pleasure. Lif nestled into Thorin chest and he encircled her with his arms, dragging his soft blanket over them, protecting them from the chill of the air. Thorin glanced down at Lif as she mumbled sleepily into his chest.

"Hmm?" He asked, brushing some wispy flicks of brunette hair out of her eyes to look at her.

"Why do you have to be so wonderful?" she whispered almost mournfully as she eyelids fluttered and then closed, her breaths were deep and even, contented in a dreamless sleep.

Thorin gazed at her; she was in his arms, safe and sound like he wanted her to be. But he knew it would not last, this peaceful contentment would not last, but he refused to think of it now: not after the joy he had just experienced. He drew her closer and nestled her head under his chin, inhaling her almondy scent, he closed his eyes and drew off into a peaceful sleep. **

Light streamed through his balcony window bathing the bed in a warming glow. The sheets were tangled about his naked waist and his blanket kicked to the bottom of the bed. He shielded his eyes against the morning sunshine, grunting in annoyance: the only time he forgot to draw the bed curtains closed was the only time he slept properly.

Swinging himself over the edge of the bed, he yawned and stretched, rubbing his tired eyes as he padded naked over to the window meaning to pull the blinds closed, so that they blocked out a little of the morning sun.

But he froze as he reached for the curtain. It was already midmorning; the sun was high in the sky casting short shadows over the mountainside.

"Damn Malal!"He cursed, he was late, the party from the Iron Mountains arrived today and his Grandfather would expect him to welcome them. He spun on his heel and started to search for his clothes but halted in his tracks. Lif shifted and rolled over, still deep in sleep, her naked body only partially covered by the bed sheet.

The events of the previous night flashed into his mind and he both cursed and smiled: how could he forget. Sighing deeply, he sat on the edge of the bed, and gently ran his fingers up her spine, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on her skin and how arched her back a little into his touch.

She moaned and rolled onto her side looking at him, her bare chest and waist calling to him like heavenly music. Thorin bowed his head and kissed his way up her side, laying a last gentle kiss against her flushed lips.

"Good morning," he whispered gently as her eyes flickered open and she smiled at him.

"A girl could get used to this," she smirked as propped herself up on her elbow, her sleepy eyes roamed over Thorin's naked form, the sunlight shone of every tanned muscle making him look burnished bronze, the dark hairs of his body contrasting with his skin like coal in a fire.

"I know I won't," Thorin grinned brazenly as he kissed her again, pressing her down back against the pillows and his hands roaming through her hair: all worries and problems forgotten in a matter of seconds.

Until there was a gentle knock at the door. Lif cursed and tried to pin Thorin to the bed but he wriggled away from her grip and sshhed her with a frantic wave of his hand, while he pulled the bed curtains closed. Picking up his breeches that lay disguarded on the floor, Thorin went to open the door.

One of Frerin's attendants was at the door, holding a scroll in his hand, fighting hard to keep his face impassive as he saw Thorin's odd appearance.

"Your brother sends his regards and left this for you this morning before he set out," the messenger stated simply and handing the scroll over. Thorin silently took the scroll and read it.

"What an idiot!" he let out a hushed whisper, not knowing if he was furious or thankful to his brother.

"My Lord?" the messenger asked waiting for instruction. Thorin looked up and crumpled the scroll in his fist.

"Got to my Father, give him my apologies and say I am not well enough to leave my room. I do not need healers; it's just a bad headache. Tell him not to worry," Thorin put finality in his tone. The messenger nodded and bowed then left. Thorin grinned as the messenger left, shutting the door behind him and making the lock secure he returned to bed.

Pulling the bed curtains open, he found Lif reclining naked on the pillows, her eyes burning like scorched limestone. If he didn't hold the letter in his hand, he would have made love to her all morning.

"Anything important?" she asked anxious that he would be called away. Thorin laid next to her and handed her the wrinkled letter, watching her expression as she read it. Her brow crinkled slightly with confusion and she looked back at him.

"I'm not sure I understand," her green eyes searched him face; Thorin kissed her shoulder and took the letter from her, letting her settle her head against his chest as he read.

"My dear big brother,

I fear you will be angry with me. You may have heard a rumour already but there may have been an altercation at one of my functions the other night. Your little Liffy attacked Niro! Not saying he didn't bring it on himself but I cannot ignore her actions Thorin. I had to exile her, Niro is the Captain of the Royal Guard, and I couldn't ignore the slight.

It is widely known that she left the mountain late last night in a hurry; many saw her leave, I myself left early the next morning.

You're Brother, Frerin

P.S. hope you slept well." Thorin finished reading and looked down Lif who looked confused.

"Well what do you make of that?" He asked stroking a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. Lif sat up and looked at him.

"But I'm not exiled, I only punched him, he deserved it," her voice was passionate as she spoke, justifying her actions.

"You punched Niro? Ha! But no, that is not the point, though it is amusing. Frerin has spread the rumour that you were exiled and left the Mountain. I can keep you safe; keep you secret from my father, from my grandfather. Don't you see, this way I don't have to worry about my Father's retribution if he thinks you've already left," Thorin's voice was alive, full of hope and longing for the simplicity of his plan.

Lif sat up, crossed legged in the middle of the bed, studying her hands. "I understand you want to keep me secret. I know you didn't intend this to happen between us, if people could control how they felt about one another the world would be a far similar place but I don't want to be locked in a cupboard or hidden away never to see the light of day." She stared at him intensely, draping the bed sheet around her, although Thorin could still see her naked body through the thin material.

"I want to be able to live, Thorin. I am not a toy to be played with every now and then," she searched his face with her eyes, determined not blink as he stared back at her. Thorin sighed and dragged a hand through his tousled black hair; he took her hands in his and studied to the scar on her palm, running his thumb over it as he did: a sick feeling settled in his stomach.

"I'll make a deal with you, If I find a way to keep you safe and for you to be free, you'll smile for me," Thorin cast his worried eyes at her, the gentleness of her leaving her almost breathless.

"You promise?" she asked earnestly trying to keep the grin from her lips. Thorin leaned his face towards her and pressed his forehead against hers.

"I'll certainly try my best," he whispered smiling when she allowed herself to smile. Lif cupped his jaw and drew him into a deep kiss, running her hand over his bare shoulders and knotting her hand into his hair.

"Do you think this was Frerin's plan all along?" Lif asked suddenly, pulling back and staring at Thorin. The Prince thought for a moment then shrugged.

"Knowing my brother…Yes, you know I think it was, " he replied musingly, pulling Lif against him so her head laid against his bare chest, stoking his fingers against the tips of her hair the touched the small of her back.

"Remind me to send him a thank you note," Lif said snuggling into his chest, and then pulled out of his arms, laying a hand over his heart.

"Don't you have to go meet your Father?" she asked suddenly worried she had made him late. Thorin smiled lazily, lifting her wrist and placing his lips to her palm.

"I am in bed with headache," Thorin stated, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Lif cocked her eyebrow and put her hands on her hips, a cheeky smirk curling on her lips.

"Is that so? Well I best be going then..." she chuckled and started off the bed, but Thorin caught her waist and pulled her back down to the mattress, pinning her under him: his hair draping around them like dark curtains.

"You are not going anywhere and that's an order..."he growled huskily before kissing her deeply.

And so they spent most of the day in bed, enjoying each other's company and each other's body, they made love and slept and held each other, loving each moment that passed between them. Thorin didn't want it to end. He would have happily died in Lif's arms that day, as they both hid from the world outside the bed curtains.

It was dusk when Thorin woke; he stretched and yawned, then extracted himself from the tangle of blankets: being careful not to wake Lif was still asleep. Splashing water on his face and neck, he donned fresh clothes, penned a quick note which he left on Lif's pillow and shut the door behind him.

He had plans to make and time was racing against him.


	16. Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Company

The world gave a sickening lurch as the ground sped towards Bow; freezing air whipped her face and neck, tearing at her clothes.

She was going to die.

It was a simple realisation: On this ludicrous and downright stupid adventure she had dared to care, dared to hope that there was something more out there for her: Something deeper than blood and dirt. But it was not to be, Bow accepted this, it was fate: she knew more than anyone that fate could not be altered.

But then again, Bow knew very little of the world around her, sure she had travelled to the four corners of Middle Earth and walked more miles than any other dwarf, but she had not truly lived. She had been clouded from a young age by ignorance and mysticism; she knew nothing of companionship, friendship or kin; Bow was alone in the world.

She knew nothing of the strength of stout hearts and the fire of bellies, knew nothing of the warmth of a friend's hearth or the pleasure of sharing a meal. That was until the Company had accepted her with open arms. For the first time in all her years Bow belonged and had friends, and she would sacrifice her life for them willingly.

I am going to die. The rock face passed flew passed her. As her body flipped in the air, she could just make out the last of the summer buds that she'd never see bloom.

But then, she'd never had a wizard as a companion before either.

She screamed as something impossibly tight clamped down around her ankle. Her innards protested; her empty stomach did a nauseating flip, her lungs hit her ribcage and her heart stopped dead in her chest: Tears streamed out her eyes as the air was knocked out of her body and pain blasted her head and spine with the full force of her momentum slamming down on her body.

Then she was pulled away from the brink, torn away from the edge of reality, and teetering on the brink of insanity, she was carried up and away on a hot torrent of air. She rose and floated before she was tossed into the air like a dry leaf, tumbeling momentarily before a vice like grip caught her around the waist.

Surely the descent into the afterlife should be more pleasant than this. Claws dug into her leather jerkin where thick yellow feet gripped her. The claws were steel black and shiny, each individual talon longer than her forearm. Bow gazed up, as if in a dream. Above her was a mountain of golden feathers, heaved up and down by massive wings. Suddenly a gigantic head pivoted down, twisting it's head so that dark amber eyes peered at her, its beak golden and sharp, glinting dangerously in the sinking sunlight.

The massive eagle twisted its head away and let out an ear piercing screech and quickly aimed down at the dwarves below; Bow tilted her head back to look at them. They ran and scurried like tiny ants, Bilbo's tiny face was white and pale as he stared up at them. Bow would have waved, but she was concentrating keeping the contents in her stomach.

Actually, now she had mastered the gentle rise and fall and the gusts of hot smoky air that hit her face, Bow actually enjoyed her flight, for if she was being carried away on the wings of death she would saviour the feeling. There was a dull ache in her belly as she realised her friends had probably also perished, but the last dregs of adrenaline burned through her exhausted body, making her mind foggy and slow, as if she was awaking from a deep sleep.

More eagles arrived, carving paths through the remaining Orcs and scooping the frenzied dwarves, who did'nt know whether to run or fight the massive birds that came upon them. Bilbo and Thorin's limp body was scooped up from where they lay, the Hobbit protesting loudly even as they soared into the sky; Dwalin and Kili were dropped on to one of the bird's feathered necks, and the others caught in similar ways.

Suddenly the world tilted again and Bow was dropped roughly onto the back of another eagle, falling heavily just behind Fili, who turned and gaped at her: his was face pale apart from the soot and blood that covered his brow, his brilliant blue eyes shone beneath the grime.

"I thought you fell?!" he shouted in disbelief, struggling for his question to be heard above the screaming wind, as golden braids blew wildly into his face.

"Am I dead?" Bow shouted back, taking the opportunity to pat herself down and check for injuries, then pinched herself, just in case. The beast beneath and the dwarf in front of her seemed solid enough, but sometimes even hallucinations could seem flesh and blood.

"Quite possibly!" Fili turned back to scan the sky, he leaned forward as far as he could, searching the horizon nervously.

"Thorin!" Suddenly and without warning Fili bellowed into the sky, his voice filled with anxiety, but with an underling need for the strong reassurance his uncle gave him. To Bow's dismay the Prince was laying unconscious in the claws of an eagle, blood trailing from his limp body. She tried to lean a little to see over the broad dwarf's shoulder but the bird banked sharply to the left, Bow let out a startled curse as she started to slide side wards, but Fili reached back and tugged her back into position.

"You'd best hold on to me, I don't think these birds'll take kindly to having their feathers ripped out and I wouldn't like being thrown off at this height."As he spoke, he pulled her arms around his chest, pulling her body close to his. Normally she would have been deeply uncomfortable by the intimacy, but at that moment exhaustion finally hit her, like a dead leaf in a strong gale, all her energy fled her body until she could barely keep upright. Fili's stocky body kept most of the wind at bay and she sunk her hands into the soft sheep skin of his jacket, which kept the chill off her hands.

Snow capped mountains and billowing clouds passed underneath them but Bow saw neither, for whether it was the languid rise and fall of the birds wings, or the thin air, or just the fact that she hadn't had any sleep for the four or more days since they'd left Rivendale, Bow found herself lulled into a deep and calming sleep.

Fili glanced back over his shoulder to ask Bow a question but thought better of it as he saw her face, calm in sleep, cradled deep into the nook between his shoulder blades. He smiled slightly and thought of how her wispy hair blew wildly like Kili's. Turning back, he gently wrapped his hands around her wrists, making sure she did not slip.

Bow felt urgent hands shaking her elbows and a voice shouting urgent over the roar of the wind. As she opened her eyes and leaned forward to answer the golden eagle beneath them dived steeply, angling its body vertical with the green rock face behind them.  
***  
Bow was lifted from her seat on the great beast's back, as a blast of air hit her square in the chest: she would have been thrown off if Fili hadn't grabbed the baggy fabric at her knees and hauled her back against him. They both fell hard against the animals feathered neck as it planted it's clawed feet down on to the stony perch.

Fili leaped off as soon as the eagle landed safely, landing heavily, then dashing to his brother's side: he embraced him warmly, pulling him into a bone crushing hug and then pulling back to check for injuries on the younger dwarf's body. Even as Bow ungracefully slid off the bird's neck and collapsed on the ground, her legs wobbly and bloodless, she could see the relief and comfort that washed over the brothers as they drew each other close.

But suddenly a hushed silence fell over the crowded carrack; all was silent apart from the blowing wind and the reseeding rustle of feathers. Thorin's body was still and unmoving on the ground. Bow pushed herself to her feet, edging her way through the Company to get a better look at the fallen dwarf.

Gandalf crouched over Thorin's body, muttering: Bilbo stood by his side, face deathly pale, as he watched the wizard's movements, his hand still resting on the hilt of his little sword.

Something coiled in Bow's stomach, something she couldn't name- it was like a painful burning energy, fizzing away in her belly and rising into a fist sized lump at the back of her throat. She turned away and looked over the distant trees of Greenwood, giving the Company the privacy they needed.

"The Halfling?" The weak words cut through the air, they were hushed and lacked power. Bow could almost hear the life draining away from the King's body. She was dreading the noises to come; the retching gasps and gurgled pleas of a man dying slowly, loosening her assassin's daggers bound to her wrists, she mentally prepared herself for what she might have to do.

Suddenly sighs and gasps of relief filled the air; Bow swung round on her heel and was shocked with the scene unfolding in front of her eyes.

"You!" Thorin growled as Fili and Balin were helped Thorin to his feet; the King limped and leaned heavily on one side, wincing a little but still maintaining his deadly prowl: like a deadly predator he moved in on the Hobbit.

"You nearly got yourself killed." Angry words spilled from his throat as he advanced on the Hobbit. To Bilbo's credit he didn't retreat, merely swallowed a little and looked away from the incensed Dwarf.

"Did I not say you would be a burden. That you would not survive in the wild. That you had no place among us?" His knuckles were clenched white and his teeth bared. Bilbo's strawberry curls trembled slightly and he visibly recoiled at the King's words.

Bow took a step forward, Thorin was about to go too far, it was one thing to shout and rage at her, that she could deal with: but it was another thing entirely to rage at Bilbo. She stepped forward but Dwalin held out a strong arm, blocking her path, he looked down at her, a broad smirk hidden under his dark brown beard and shook his head a little. Bow raised a puzzled eyebrow and looked back the pair.

"And I have never been so wrong in all my life." Thorin's words were hushed and a steady grin curled his bruised cheeks tightly under his eyes as he pulled the Hobbit into a bone crushing hug. The Company erupted with cheers, slapping each other on the back and hugging each other in turn. Dwalin laughed and patted her head roughly; Bow knocked his hand away grumpily and edged away from the raucous dwarves a little.

"Don't worry, I would have doubted me too," Bilbo pulled away and shrugged, shuffling his feet, as an embarrassed blush making his cheeks and pink. The Company engulfed them, surrounding the pair with good natured japes and back slapping. Thorin pulled away from the group and came to stand by Bow's side, both facing out, looking over the distant landscape and The Lonely Mountain fair beyond.

"Is that what I think it is?" Bow didn't know she'd said the words aloud but they escaped her mouth, uttering them in half a whisper, gentle enough that it could have blown away in the wind. Beside her, Thorin's face was peaceful, calm and serene, his dark salt and pepper hair blowing in the gentle breeze that brushed coolly against Bow's skin. A thrush flew past over their heads, singing high and merrily down at them, before disappearing of into the distance.

"Our home," the heir of Durin muttered. To Bow, it was as if she saw a glimpse of the King who could have been: his body was tall and proud, his face calm but merry hope shining within the crystal clear blue of his eyes, battle worn and weathered his face was strong and unrelenting.

The Company and Gandalf came to rest behind them, starring at their long lost home, a sacred hush falling over them.

Bow had fought for longer than they knew to reach this far, and now it was within her grasp, so close it danced in front of her eyes, tantalising and solitary, strong and powerful: A lonely Mountain like no other. Determination rose like dragon fire in her chest, burning away ounce of weariness in her bones.

Erebor.   
***  
Bow raced the young dwarves down the purpose built steps from the top of Carrack, down right to the rocky meadow at the foot. Kili collapsed in a heap at the bottom, waving an exhausted hand up in the air as celebration. Fili following close behind, bent double, his chest heaving with panted breathes, wiping a hand across his sweaty brow. Bow stumbled next, leaping the last two steps, followed by Bilbo and Ori who both complained about being left behind.

The rest of the Company followed at a more sedate pace, taking leisure in the heat of the morning sun, and being careful to support Thorin with their arms or shoulders. He was limping badly, but he bore up well and kept in good humour, chatting easily with Balin and Dwalin.

Guilt flared up in the back of Bow's mind, but didn't have time to dwell on the peculiar sensation.

"Foolish Dwarves! Serve you right! If you'd fallen and broken your necks, then where would you be? Warg bait that's what!" Gandalf chastised the young dwarves. Kili and Fili chuckled together, while Ori and Bilbo glanced away uncomfortably.

"And Bow, I am surprised at you, I thought you knew better," he wheeled on her, giving her a pointed a stare with his grey eyes.

"Well you thought wrong then, didn't you? " She replied with a shrug, folding her arms over her chest and smirking. Gandalf shook his head and stalked away exasperatedly, mumbling under his breath. The rest of the Company finally touched down and looked to Thorin for direction.

He was pale now, almost grey underneath the scratches on his face. He grimaced and stood, a pained expression contorting his face, as he extended his arm to reach the map in his breast pocket. Bow stepped forward and made a halting gesture with her hand.

"I think it would be wise to camp. We are all exhausted and I know these lands; we can camp close to a thicket of trees just over that hill." The dwarves were surprised by her outburst, and glanced at each other.

"There is plenty of food available and plenty of wood for a fire." That settled it. The dwarves cheered at the sound of a hot meal and fire, the chill of the mountain pass still fresh in their minds. Thorin looked down to nod at her appreciably, his azure eyes retaining their twinkle.

"Let it be done," he ordered and they made their way across the wild meadow, cutting past tangled plants and loose gravel, until the came to the lush out crop of trees on the edge of a gentle river.

In the early afternoon sunshine the ground grew warm and a cool breeze flitted of the clear service of the blue water, even Dwalin had to admit, it was a truly beautiful spot.

Bow flung down her duffle down and straightened her back, groaning a little at the painful tightness of her shoulders and throbbing pain of her palms. The dwarves collapsed in piles, ignoring the odd pebble on the ground but enjoying the heat of the rock, they curled about like cats napping.

Bow sucked in a long exasperated breath and started peeling off her jerkin, until she stood in her bare feet, trousers and shirt. She rolled up the legs as far as they would go and un-tucked her baggy white shirt, rolling up the sleeves. Bow was too tired and too hungry to care about exposing her skin.

"Bombur you should probably get a fire going," she ordered the fat dwarf who was basking in the sun as she waded into the shallows of the river.

"Whats she doing?" sat up to watch her Kili asked his uncle, who was peacefully leaning with his back against a nearby tree. The green shadows of the leaves above were casting down on Thorin's face.

"She's fishing," he stated, leaning forward to watch her with interest. Bow was stood perfectly still, waist deep in water, she let the marine life grow accustomed to her, waiting like a statue until the fish swam close enough to grab. Suddenly there was a rush of movement and much splashing, and five large salmon came flying out the water. One slapped Gloin right in the face, while the others flip flopped on the ground.

Bow emerged, shaking of the excess water from her arms and legs, and donned her jerkin again. It was a warm day despite the breeze: Her clothes would dry quickly.

Bombur stoked the fire high and constructed a spit for the fish. The others gathering wood and making note of any provisions they lacked. The fish would take the edge off their hunger while she had chance to hunt for larger game. But she had bigger problems to deal with at that very moment.

She started to make her way out of the camp, heading towards the wood, when a quiet voice rose behind her.

"And where would you be going?" Thorin asked dryly, his eyes were shut, but Bow knew that he could sense her.

"There is deer in this forest, I fancy one for supper," she replied matter-of-factly, crossing her wet arms over her chest as she spoke to him, having to tilt her head down to his position on the ground.

"Can it not wait; you should have something to eat before you head out again." His words were simply stating a fact but as he opened his eyes, Bow was surprised by the mild concern in his gaze. She glanced around nervously before, crouching beside him and lowering her voice so that only the Prince could hear.

"I have a small… problem with sleeping around others; I should be back before dark," she kept her words careful, glancing up at his blue eyes as they scanned over her shoulder at the Company.

In Thorin's mind he could see the white pallor of her skin and the light purpling of bags under her eyes, in truth he couldn't remember ever seeing her sleep: guilt rose as he thought about how many nights she had sat alone on watch with no one bothering to question her.

"Insomnia?" he asked still not meeting her eyes, Bow looked away into the wood.

"Something like that," she replied, rising to her feet. In truth it was manic insomnia brought on by her paranoia and distrust of everyone save herself. Thorin nodded understandingly, and then twisted a little to look up at her.

"Then be sure to take Kili's bow with you, in case you run into an deer." His voice was loud enough for the others to hear now, and they glanced at her and Kili reached up reluctantly to hand her his weapon. She nodded to the Prince and to the young dwarf in thanks, before heading off into the peacefulness of the wood.

It was relatively small wood compared with the likes of Fangorn or Mirkwood but Bow walked for five minutes, being careful to keep the sounds of the dwarves camp in hearing distance. Then sliding the bow around herself, she clambered up the trunk of a sturdy old oak tree and made herself comfortable on a thick branch. Sunbeams peeped through the leafy greenness of the tree canopy and birds sang in the distance, lulling Bow into a comfortable sleep.   
***  
The sun was riding low in the sky by the time she returned to camp. A few hours sleep had put some life back into her, so hunting had been relatively simple. A couple of braces of rabbits and some wild onions and garlic were all she had come across but still it would mean that the Company would sleep with full bellies tonight. Bow had found some wild mushrooms too, but she'd never been keen on them.

The Company exclaimed in delight at the sight of a second meal; even the Hobbit who sat slightly away from the rest of the group, his hands deeply stuffed in his pockets, smiled broadly at her. Bow handed her bounty over to Bifur who skinned and gutted them with surprising dexterity, then gave Kili back his bow, thanking him for its use. And she sat down by the fire, just slightly back from the others, stretching her legs out in front of her and placing her injured palms on her knees.

The rabbits had been thin and scrawny but with Bombur's skill the meat and onions turned into a thick and creamy broth that was passed around in the only remaining cup that had survived Goblin Town. Bow drank deeply savouring the taste; she could not remember the last time she'd had a hot meal.

When the meal was finished the talk slowed, becoming calm and content, moving away from battle stories and deeds of valour to more light hearted topics like family and children back home: Gloin spoke of his son Gimili whose beard had just started to sprout. The talk turned to Erebor and what would happen after it had been reclaimed. Bow sat in silence, not really listening to the conversation, but watching transfixed by the dancing flames and heat of the fire, when silence fell and she looked up, all eyes were on her.

"What?" she asked, glancing around the faces illuminated by the fire, long shadows jerking about on the ground.

"What will you do, ya' know, after we've reclaimed the mountain?" Bofur asked warmly, tilting his head to a jaunting angle and smiling a little. Bow looked down at her hands, studying them while she found the right words to say.

"I hadn't really given it much thought. I might just keep going east; I've always wondered what was out there, on the other side of Rhûn past the Orocarni Mountains of the East I mean." She kept her eyes down, and kept her hands preoccupied by brushing some mud from her boots. The Dwarves pondered her words for a moment but it was the Prince who spoke next.

"You could always stay." Thorin met her eyes across the fire, his brilliant blue eyes dancing with flames and burning with intensity. His words were light, but with the deep resonance of his voice, they laid coolly in the air, cutting the cheery atmosphere clean. Bow looked away quickly, growing uncomfortable under the weight of all the stares on her.

"For what reason do I have to stay-" Bow met Thorin's eyes for a heart beat before looking around at the glowing faces of the dwarves and Hobbit "- and besides what would I do there? Sit idle and get fat and lazy?" She grinned at Bombur who had stew tangled in his beard, and then at the Hobbit who watched her closely, his face glum and remorseful. "Anyway, let's not make an omelette before the chicken has laid its eggs; we've still actually got to get to the mountain, find the invisible door, defeat Smuag, survive a milky half mad Orc, - simple really," Bow retorted with mirth, counting off each challenge with her fingers, making the Company laughed long and hard, enjoying this fleeting moment of relaxation before the trials began a fresh tomorrow. Bow waited until the laughed petered out to continue.

"So do you wish to continue into Mirkwood tomorrow?" she asked Thorin, glancing quickly away to add another log to the low fire. Thorin opened his mouth to speak but Gandalf interrupted.

"I think it best to recuperate our strength for a few days, I have an old friend in these hills, no more than half a day's walk, he will give us food and shelter until we are rested," Gandalf puffed his pipe thoughtfully while Bow shifted uneasily, her brow drawn together in a frown.

"I know of no one in these hills, there are no homesteads in these parts. Are you quite sure you're not thinking of somewhere else? " Bow responded her words dripping with sarcasm. The dwarves chortled but began to quickly edge away as a dark shadow emitted from Gandalf's hulking frame.

"I shall have you know, Bow Traveller, that a wizard is never wrong or mistaken," his deep voice rose to a powerful crescendo, the temperature dropped dramatically, and Bow recoiled a little, resting her hand on the hilt of her dagger for reassurance. But Gandalf saw a flicker of something cross her face and glimmer in her eyes, and a fast as his anger came, it went, leaving him sitting peacefully once again by the fire. "Beorn is, I grant you, a solitary character, and there may a wards placed around his home to deter unwelcome visitors. But I am quite sure he will welcome you gentle folk." He smiled and puffed at his pipe again.

"Oh come now Gandalf, these aren't gentle folk, they haven't a hanky between the lot of them," Bilbo grumbled and quipped. The Company laughed and Bow joined them, so caught up in merriment that for just once she fought to keep her guard up.   
***  
Soon the night wore on and eventually they succumbed to sleep, all except Thorin, who watched to the She-dwarf: curled in a ball away from the others, Thorin watched Bow frown in sleep and mumble words he couldn't hear. She was... perplexing, the dwarf had shown her courage and skill many times, saving the Company from the brink of annihilation: And yet she was still an enigma, something about Bow tugged in the dark reaches of his mind but as soon as he thought he could pin point it, it had slipped his fingers. He looked away and up to the stars over head, lost in thought.

Bow awoke suddenly. The fire popped and sputtered, blowing embers away in the wind. It was a few hours before dawn still but she was pleasantly surprised she'd slept at all, usually she would have sat awake until first light and then moved on.

She got up and stretched, throwing another log on the fire and watched the flame rise again. The Company slept quiet, apart from the odd snore and the few occasions when Bifur would wrestle with something imaginary in his sleep, even the Prince breathed deep and evenly, his body propped against a rock, arms crossed loosely over his chest and head drooping so his hair shrouded his face.

His scratches had taken a purple tinge to them now and his cuts had scabbed over, but Bow knew from experience that broken ribs were terribly painful and took a long time to heal. He bore his pain silently. Acting on impulse she shrugged off her jerkin and gently laid it over the Prince, then threw yet another log over the fire and retreated to the far corner of the camp.

Bow then sat quietly, going through the days in her mind and the challenges that they still faced, as the sky turned steadily red as the sun began to rise. Just as the Dwarves were beginning to rouse, she shot across the camp, grabbed her coat and sat back down on her rock, without anyone noticing she'd moved.

With only a few moans about cuts and scrapes the Company moved off, with no breakfast or hot drinks. They drank from the river and marched back into the wilderness towards Beorn's mysterious home.

It was as Gandalf said: half a day's walk. The terrain was easy to negotiate, a thick canopy of trees meant less foliage to clamber over but still Thorin struggled, his face flushed and colour rising in his cheeks. Bow secretly studied his grim determination as they walked on.

Finally Gandalf halted the entourage on the edge of a wooded clearing, a vast expanse of empty field laying ahead of them. The wizard turned and addressed them.

"Now, do as I say and tonight you will be sleeping in warm beds with full bellies. Beorn is a ... secluded fellow-" he struggled to find the right words to describe the giant man "-but is harmless. However I don't want to spook him, so I think it best that you come in pairs with five minute intervals in between," as he finished speaking the dwarves nodded in agreement at the proposition of a warm bed.

Gandalf nodded, his hat wobbling a little as they paired up, scanning an inspecting eye over them.

"Right everyone, best behaviour now, especially you!" He jabbed an accusing finger in Bow's direction and raised an eyebrow, as if daring her to challenge him.

"What?!" She stared back and shrugged, pulling a face as the wizard turned his back and disappeared into the long grass. After five minutes Thorin and Dwalin stalked into the field, time passed quickly and soon it left only Bow and Bilbo as they walked alone into the empty field, parting the long grass that reached passed her waist.

"You were worried about me, in the goblin cave," Bilbo spoke suddenly, voicing a statement more than asking a question, though his tone was gently probing.

"Well, couldn't have our Burglar getting ripped to bits in the Bone Breaker now, could we?" she grinned a little and pushed a particular cruel looking thistle out the way.

"But the others were worried too! You're the only one who hasn't asked me how I got out," he noted, dodging the nasty thistle. Bow stopped and turned to look at the Hobbit. He had changed since their travels had began; he was no longer soft and fluffy but weather worn and hardened. One thing was the same: his eyes still sparkled with sincerity and earnest.

"Goblins are goblins, I'm sure whatever happened, it wasn't pleasant." She shrugged and walked on. Suddenly they arrived in a vast clearing, a homey log cabin situated right in the middle, a blooming flower garden surrounding it, and smoke was rising merrily from chimney.

Bilbo made appreciative noises as he studied the flowers in the garden; his would have looked similar if he was at home right now, planting bulbs as he should be, but he quickly snapped to Bow's side as she slammed the heavy iron knocker down against the massive oak door.

As soon as her hand left the huge knocker the door creaked ominously and a huge dark shadow emerged from the dim light inside, and before Bow could even flinch, a massive hand shot forward and grabbed them around the middle, pinning their arms painfully to their sides. Bilbo tried to kick out wildly and wriggle free, Bow ground her teeth in determination, trying to press the mechanism of her blades, but she couldn't even twist her wrists she was held so tight. The massive figure leered down at them, his eyes gleaming from within the blackness.

"Well, what have we here?" a deep and deadly voice breathed, but Bow could barely hear his words against the rising panic. They were trapped!


	17. The wide wooden halls of the Bear Man

The dark giant held Bow and Bilbo close so that he could study them with his beady black eyes. His beard scratched against her skin and she could hear the tiny tweet of birds hiding in his hair. Bilbo continued to struggle, crying out in dismay as the giant squeezed tighter. Bow too winced as her arms pressed painfully against her sides.

The hall was dark compared to the brilliant sunshine outside, Bow couldn't see any of the Company or Gandalf for that matter and her anger rose when she thought about the dwarves against this giant.

"Let us go! If you've hurt any of the Company I will pay it back on you tenfold!" she snarled, staring point blank into the Giants beetle black eyes.

"I've found me a rabbit-" he shook Bilbo a roughly, "- and caught me a sparrow," he said letting out a booming laugh that rattled Bow's teeth and shook her bones. The world dropped away as Bow and Bilbo landed heavily on the floor. Bow winced as she smacked her knee against the stone floor.

More laughter and cheers filled the wooden hall and candle light illuminated the high beamed room. The Company entered from the side of the building which was hidden in semi shadow, their hands filled with clean clothing as they beamed at the two crumpled figures on the floor. Bow winced as she got to her feet, her knee smarting and pulled Bilbo to his feet beside her. Gandalf advanced on her and patted her shoulder good naturedly.

"If that was your idea of a joke, your sense of humour needs examining." She shook of his hand and straightened her jerkin, brushing off dust from her fur hood.

"Dwarves are mischievous beings but always in a good natured manner. I, for one, found it very amusing," Gandalf chuckled, lighting his pipe and puffing out large smoke circles.

"Yeah, real good natured, stupid bunch of Orcs," she retorted as the Giant turned back to her, leaning down so he could look her in the eye, his shield sized hands on his hips matter-of-factly.

"So, you must be Bow the Traveller. I have heard your exploits. But I must say I am a little disappointed; the stories say plants wither under your feet and you can shoot lighting from your fingertips. However, it is an honour to have you in my Halls." The shaggy giant's voice was a barely audible growl but his words sincere as bowed low, his beard almost touched the granite floor. Bow shuffled her feet uncomfortably. There were many stories about her, most fanciful nonsense, but she never liked that one. She preferred the one that said she turned into a purple bat and sucked the souls out people who committed evil.

She glanced at the dwarves who made frantic bowing movements with their hands while hiding there sniggering faces behind their beards. Thorin stood slightly apart from the others, his thick arms crossed over his chest and he leaned heavily against a wooden pillar. The Giant straightened up and looked at her expectantly.

"I have heard your name-" she glanced uncertainly at Gandalf who nodded, "-Beorn, but you have me at a disadvantage; I know nothing of your deeds. But I would not like to judge you on your greeting," she retorted trying to smile pleasantly as she curtsied at Beorn; just like Bilbo had taught her. The Company laughed harder and Bow straightened up immediately, embarrassed irritation flaring up in her chest, and she rubbed irritably at the hot flush that erupted on her cheeks.

Beorn let out a booming laugh, his barrel chest and belly shaking as his laughter filled the high hall to the rafters. "My my, your name should be Bow SharpTongue! I am glad Bow the Traveller. I have offered your dwarves hospitality, food and shelter: I only ask that you do not leave my Halls at night, it is my one condition. My reasons are my own," he rumbled again kindly and inclined his massive head to her.

His aura was interesting, Bow could sense conflicting colours and swirling golds, Beorn was old and powerful: his life line connected directly from the earth itself. Before she could reply the Giant had moved on. Bow and the Company erupted in laughter as Beorn pulled the Hobbit into a tight hug: Bilbo's arms and legs barely visible under the mass of black hair. After releasing Bilbo was from Beorn's bone crushing hug, and setting him down, Bilbo retreated to Gandalf's side. Beorn made to grab Bow as well but she darted under his arms, retreating behind the bulking mass of Bombur.

"Naughty little Sparrow," Beorn grumbled with mock anger, waving his fat finger chastisenly at Bow: He looked like a mother hen telling off its chick.

Their host showed them up large wooden staircase towards the bedrooms. The dwarves struggled a little with their size and resorted to pulling each other up step by step; Bow merely ran up them on all fours, much to Beorn's amusement. Once on the landing Beorn directed the Dwarves down a long hallway to a room with bunk beds and two master bedrooms were.

The Company scrambled for the largest Master bedroom but Thorin got there first, batting his eager nephews away, Dwalin and Balin getting the next largest; the others disappeared into the last bedroom. Bow stood awkwardly away from the others, picking at a dried patch of blood on her sleeve.

"Bow the Traveller follow Beorn," he patted her roughly on the head, causing her shoulders to groan in protest, and nudged her lightly down the opposite hallway. Bow batted away his massive hand but followed silently. Opening a massive door that stood alone in this corridor Beorn revealed another room: it was bigger than the others, with a giant four poster bed piled high with fur pillows.

"My room is yours," the giant stated simply, gesturing that she should enter, but Bow backed away and shook her head.

"I cannot take your room. Just lend me a pillow and I'll be more than happy to camp in front of the hearth," she protested growing uncomfortable under the Giants scrutiny. He shook his massive head, ruffling his dark beard and pushed her roughly through the door, closing it behind her.

"I will wash your clothes, leave them by the door," he growled through the door. Bow huffed and started investigating her alien surroundings: making sure nothing lurked in the corners or under the massive bed. Only when she was sure the room was secure did she let herself relax.

She had to stand on her tip toes to see over the bed and her legs dangled when she sat on the chair, Bow could just about see out the window and the masses of flowers the surrounded the hall.

Bow was little surprised the room didn't bother her. It was so familiar and yet so alien. Never in all her days had she ever had a room like this one. The most luxurious bed she'd had in the past was a pile of blankets on a stone floor.

"Oh yes," she hummed in appreciation as she opened a door at the far end of the room, peering round the frame there laid a wood panelled bathroom, including a pond sized cooper bathtub with matching sink and taps. Around the walls were dozens of shelves covered with multi-coloured glass bottles and tubs. Drying herbs hung from wooden beams, giving the room a pleasant smell of wild garlic and lavender, a small wood burning stove burned in the corner which crackled and popped merrily. She fiddled with the brass taps, mesmerised by the scalding water that spilled out, filling the bathtub until the room was steamy.

She peeled away her filthy clothing and ,wrapping herself in a thick blankets as she scurried to the door and pressed her ear against the it to ensure the coast was clear, she flung her clothes out the door and slammed it closed, wedging her boots under it. When the door was secure, she dashed back to the bathroom, and carefully slid into the water.

Bow had never had a bath before so didn't know what it was supposed to feel like; her old aches throbbed- her shoulder and palms were the worst- but gradually the hot water took effect and soothed her muscles. She ducked her head under the water and scrubbed until her skin was pink and raw. To her shame, dirt and muck clouded the water as blood and years of grime came off her skin.

She drained the mucky water that had grown cold and filled the tub again, this time only half full to save water.

There were small tubs and containers on shelves surround in the bathroom. Some held gritty pastes that smelt like honey but didn't taste like it at all, others had bits of plants in and flecks of twig, Bow even found a beech branch in the corner of the room: very odd indeed.

Small coloured glass bottles lined the upper shelves of the cabinet above the sink and Bow studied the labels that didn't make any sense to her, sniffing dubiously at bottle with a pink lid, then cringed away: Rose blossom and juniper. Bow sneezed, the potent scent still stuck in her nose. Next she tried a pale cream bottle, this one was more subtle: Maple with a hint of vanilla. She smiled at the pleasant scent and poured the entire contense onto her damp hair, rubbing until her head looked like a foam hat. Adding little drizzles of almond and camomile perfume to the bath water, just so the room smelled pleasantly.

After ducking her head several times and nearly blinding herself with soap, she got out of the bath and shook herself dry, water splattering the mirror and a mucky ring running round the edge of the tub. Draping herself in towels and, with a gust of steam from the open door, padded back into the bedroom.

Her boots had been pushed neatly aside and clean clothes lay folded on the bed. Bow snorted with mild annoyance and wedged her boots under the door again, this time more firmly, and turned to the bed. With a leaping bound she managed to clamber up into the massive mattress with carved oak bed frame, that was at least 4 metres wide and 2 meters high, piled high with fur pillows as big as a sheep.

The pile of clothes were simple, no leather, but thick wool and cotton. Out of the pile was a choice of shirts and tunics, a pair of trousers and a dress. Bow tossed the dress away onto the chair and pulled on the trousers and an overlarge white cotton shirt and green woollen tunic with one large button. The shirt and tunic reached past her knees and the sleeves flapped like the sails of a ship. Bow assumed they must have been made for a Human, for they were too small for Beorn and not nearly broad enough for a dwarf.

She didn't care how she looked really, she'd never needed to but a worrying nerve twitched in the back of her mind when the Dwarves laughed at her, Bow hated the thought of being humiliated. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she rolled up her sleeves so that they bunched around her wrists and straightened her tunic. Her hair was still wet, laying in a damp snarl of tangles; she tried dragging her fingers through the knots but soon gave up, leaving it out of the collar to dry.

Bow was torn between sleep and food, but as her stomach growled, food won out and she descended into the main hall, sliding down the steep stairs on her bum to ensure she didn't trip down the immense steps.

The Dwarves had already assembled and were scoffing down food by the fistful, no one would have noticed her entrance if it hadn't have been for their mysterious host. Beorn at the head of the table, sat in a chair the size of a wagon, he got to his feet and bowed to her respectfully.

The Company's chatter turned into a deadly silence when they saw her, their faces a mix of amusement and awe, handfuls of food stopped halfway to their mouths. Some of the older dwarfs even scrambled to copy Beorn's example: bowing low and elaborately, offering her a place on the bench next to them.

"And you can all put a stop to that," Bow grumbled nudging a space between Bilbo and Bifur, knocking Bofur's hat fell off into his soup as he bowed to her, much the amusement of his brothers. She sat down on wooden bench beside the Hobbit and Bifur, who beamed maniacally at her as she piled her plate high with stewed pears, scones with jam and strawberries, pan fried buttered apple pie, and honeyed oat tart: but most important of all, was the seed cake.

"Mukhuh Mahal udnîn zu ra sanzigil umkhûh zu," Bifur said merrily, inclining his tankard to her, then continued eating his jam tart.

"Yeah, same to you," Bow smiled and nodded, not having the faintest clue what he'd said, then turned back to her cake which she very much wanted to enjoy but it was not to be. Bilbo tapped her shoulder, his little eyes full of sincerity, though his voice shook slightly.

"Bow, you look..." his voice trailed off and he took a swig from his tankard. Tension coiled in her chest.

"I look like what?" she growled under her breath, light anxiety growing in her chest as she glanced around the table at the Company, whose conversation had lulled. Most of them beamed stupidly at her, Ori had turned a shade of beetroot red, Dori elbowing his younger brother as he put his arm in his soup. Kili and Fili kept glancing at her over their food. However both Dwalin and Thorin openly stared; Dwalin's face looked as if his was trying to thread a needle, an odd mix of confusion and deep thought: while Thorin's face had drained of all blood, leaving him like a grey statue, the injuries across his nose and brow standing out startlingly: his eyebrows drew together in confusion and his blue eyes quivered slightly as they flickered over her face and figure.

She was too uncomfortable to be embarrassed; making her face cold and fierce, Bow pointed her knife in their direction and speared an apple, starring pointedly at them as she bit savagely into the juicy flesh. They got the message; Dwalin glanced away, busying himself with another buttered parsnip. Thorin appeared to shake sense into him and glanced suspiciously into his tankard and placing it back on the table.

Bilbo pondered the words, trying to think of the best way to describe her appearance.

"You look….civilised," he stated, trying the word out to see if it fitted, then nodded to himself: Yes, civilised worked. For under the grime and mud and blood and….other things, Bow could have passed for a Dwarf or a tall Hobbit, though she wasn't nearly tubby for a Hobbit.

Before she could reply, Gandalf stood up next to Beorn and raised his beaker to their host, his old hands raised to indicate that they should be silence.

"My Friends, lets us thank our host for his kind hospitality that he has shown us. To Beorn, our new friend!" Gandalf cried followed by cheers from the Company who drained their tankards and cheered Beorn's name.

Bifur slapped Bow roughly on the back and pushed a tankard into her hands. She sniffed the pale brown liquid: it was hoppy but sweet with fragrant undertones. Bow took one gulp, then drained the tankard, much to the delight of the other Dwarves.

The drinking continued and more food was brought by sheep and goats standing straight on their back legs. A large fluffy Yew placed a thick crusted pie in front of her and Bow thanked it politely and it bleated back at her then shuffled away. Bilbo once again nudged her elbow.

"Did you see that?" Bilbo said in disbelief, staring opened mouthed at the sheep.

"See what?" Bow answered absently taking a slice of warm pie.

"That was a sheep. Bow, a sheep just gave you a pie! Is it just me who thinks that's strange?" the Hobbit cried with indignation, waving a loaf of bread in his right hand as he did so.

"I don't think it's strange, not really. I mean consider this Master Baggins, in this one room sits four maybe five different races, it would be naive indeed to assume that there were not more out in the big wide world than the ones you find in the Shire." Mead had made her tongue looser than usually, and her body was comfortably numb: it appeared she was a talkative know-it-all drunk.

After a while, when the Company had eaten their fill, smoking pipes and chatting lightly, they all left the table and sat on the fur rugs or massive chairs that surrounded the fire place. Bow sat crossed legged in silence, her belly painfully full but she was too tipsy to even think of climbing the mountain like stairs.

Swaying slightly she noticed her reflection in one of the many large shiny cooking pots which hung from the walls. Bow swore loudly, making all the drowsy dwarves jump. Her hair now dry hair was a static mess, dark and wispy it surrounded her head in wild tangles, it touched the bottom of her back and hung useless like a pair of curtains: she looked like Myrtle the pony. Apparently the grime she'd accumulated over the years kept her rebellious hair in check.

"I've seen sheep dog's with neater hair!" she growled, catching the mechanism of her wrist dagger, and folding the blade against a fistful of hair.

"NO!"

"STOP!"

"DON'T DO IT!" – The dwarves were up on their feet and charged her, someone pulled her arm away from her hair, nearly dragging her off her seat in the process. If she hadn't have had some much to drink she would normally of broken someone's nose.

"Don't get your frilly knickers in a twist, I was only gonna shear it off, not cut my damn throat!..Hic!" She growled, though it sounded less threatening when she hiccupped. The dwarves glanced uneasily at each other, shifting slightly from one foot to the other. Balin spoke up, eyeing her assassins blade thoughtfully as he spoke to her.

"Dwarves don't cut their hair lass, not ever. We trim our beards and get the scraggily bits off but hair is a sign of our true selves, given as a gift by Malah," he spoke gently as if to a simpleton, which for her lack of knowledge about the Dwarven culture she was. Studying the faces surrounding her, Bow could see that the grey dwarf was right, all the dwarves had long hair that was either loose or tightly plaited, with the exception of Dwalin who was bald, though he made up for it in tattoos and beard.

Bow shrugged them off and flicked the rebellious hair out of her eyes with an impatient hand. "But it's in my eyes! What will I do in a battle, whiplash the enemy to death with my long locks? No, much better if I cut it off and have done with it. I didn't even realise it was so long in the first place!" The closely packed dwarves surrounding her were beginning to make her uncomfortable and her head had begun to pound with a headache.

The Company glanced at each other, one idea forming amongst them, and before Bow knew what was happening, she was being dragged by the elbows and plonked on the floor in front of the fire.

"Lads combs at the ready!" Apparently Nori had taken charge, eyeing the back of her hair like an artist would a blank canvas. Ori, Dori and Bifur sat crossed legged on her right while Bofur, Kili and Gloin on her left, each with a comb in their hands: Nori paced between them barking orders like a foreman would. Bilbo was sent to search for clasps while the others watched with curiosity; all save Fili who watched his brother's hands sullenly and Thorin who sat apart from the rest, staring coldly in to the flickering fire.

Bow wasn't keen on having multiple fingers running through her hair, but then again she was too drunk and too tired to care, and besides it was annoying having to push bits out of her face all the time. The Company started their work, deftly plating and combing, tugging gently at knots.

"Keep it simple. I can't be driving you men all lovesick like wild moose in heat," Bow stated stubbornly, a little anxious she would end up with something similar to Nori's starfish hair.

"You're like not like any dwarf women I know of," Bofur noted lightly, twisting a thin lock of hair in a tight braid. Bow tried to turn her head angrily but the other hairdressers complained and yanked her head back to the front.

"Well you can't be very popular with the ladies then," she retorted as Dori painfully tried to tease a knot out of her hair.

"What he means is lassie, isour women folk are fighters and hardy, but real gentle like when it comes to males. You fit right well with us," Balin interjected looking down at her thoughtfully, leaning against the mantel piece with a fresh tankard of mead in his hand.

"Nah my kind of She-dwarf needs to be direct, canie' be doing with prancing about with all that damn ceremony timidness, plain and simple," Dwalin added, slurring his words a little as he drink deeply from his tankard, receiving words of approval from some of the other dwarfs.

"So you want a female version of yourself," Bow jibbed challenging.

"But with more hair!"Gloin called out, the howled with drunken laughter as Dwalin tried to cuff Gloin around the back of the head, but stumbled over his drunken feet and ended up sprawled on the floor.

Bow stared absently into the fire until she realised the Company had fallen into a silence and realised the clever hands had left her hair. She glanced round and patted her head. The dwarves smiled and shifted nervously, getting quickly to their feet and retreating to a safe distance. Bow got to her feet, wobbled a little then moved nervously to look at her reflection.

Several tight interlocking plaits swept from her hair line getting thicker as they progressed to the back of her head then coiled into a woven plaited bun, all held in place by simple bronze clasps.

I look like a dwarf, she thought swallowing a painful lump in her throat. Turning back to the expectant group she shrugged and smiled a little, inclining her head in thanks. "Its… Okay. Least you didn't make me look like a moose."

The Company laughed, thumping her roughly on the shoulder and cracking open another barrel of mead. Even though she wanted nothing more than to crawl into her massive bed, Bow was caught up in the music and frivolity of the Dwarfs.

However Beorn stood suddenly and began to make excuses, patting dwarves on the head as he moved to leave. Arriving at Bilbo, he caught the Hobbit into a tight hug and shook him like a rag doll. " Little rabbits getting fat on bread and honey," he chuckled pinching Bilbo gaping belly through his waist coat.

"That's enough of that!" Bilbo cried out in indignation and slapped Beorn's hand away.

The Company howled with laughter, even sombre Thorin cracking a broad smile, Beorn turned and advanced on Bow when she snorted loudly, nearly choking on a piece of seed cake.

"Sparrows too, if they have too many seeds in their cake, won't be able to fly south in winter." Beorn patted her heavily on the back making her stumble forward.

"I'd like to see you fly, you big oaf!" she mumbled under her breath as the giant made for the door, until the actual meaning of his words sunk into her drunken mind.

"Hold on one cotton-picking second! I'm bigger than him, so how does that make me a sparrow and him a rabbit?" she called after him, slurring her words and waving her empty tankard erratically in the air. Beorn paused at the door and turned back to her.

"Sparrows need one another, a lone sparrow is a lost sparrow. You just haven't realised you are lost yet." His voice was sombre and unrest, his dark beady eyes glimmering like shiny pieces of coal.

"I know exactly where I am, what type of guide would I be if I didn't?" she called matter-of-factly as Beorn closed the door behind him. The Company cheered again and the merry making continued with song and music and even so dancing.

Although Kili and Fili retired for to bed, the warm atmosphere was not lost without them, though Bow doubted they were doing much sleeping: however even in her drunken state she kept this observation to herself.

Some of their songs were mournful, deep and resonating sacred tunes that made her long for their destination, while others were light heart and merry about foolish dwarves who had fallen in love with a golden statue of a She-dwarf. Bow was fascinated, the Company knew every note and every word, working together to form a perfect harmony of music she had never heard before.

"Do you play Mistress Bow?" Ori asked as one song ended, placing his flute aside to take a swig of mead. All the Company carried an instrument, a miracle considering what they'd been through. They all played excellently, though Thorin's harp made even the softest notes seem brutish as he calloused fingers danced over the strings.

"Who do you think I am? 'Course I don't," she replied, shrugging a little. The dwarves murmured amongst themselves; apparently a dwarf who didn't play an instrument was a phemonon.

"Do you dance?" Bilbo called, red faced and breathless from his last jig.

"Certainly not!" She retorted crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do you know any songs or poems?" Gandalf asked quiet, his pale eyes studying her over his smoking pipe. His words gave her pause. To say she didn't know any songs would be a lie, in a rash decision she stood up from her seat , swayed slightly, and straightened her tunic with a determined tug.

"I am not much of a singer," she warned them, raising her hands for silence, the room fell quiet. Bow cleared her throat and began to hum the melody; its gentle rise and fall, the sweet lightness of its tune and the increase in pace at its chorus. She'd known the tune as long as she could remember, though the words she put it herself .

"Land of bear and land of eagle,

Land that gave us birth and blessing.

We will go home,

We will go home,

We will go home ever northward.

Where the green grass grows,

And a cool wind blows,

We will go home ever northward.

Land of stone and land of bone,

we will go home,

we will go home,

We will go home ever northward..." She let the last note of her song die out and stood awkward for a moment. "I forget the rest." Bow shrugged and sat down, wishing for the silence to end.

"Well that was morbid," noted Bofur who now studied the contents of his tankard.

"Aye, morbid and beautiful. Thankyou Lassie. Wouldn't you say so Thorin?" Balin inclined his head to her and smiled gently, then turned to face his future King. Thorin was as tight as a coiled spring and sharp as a lightning bolt, confusion and anger crossing his features, but in the split second they were gone: his face passing into masked stoicism.

"Everybody bed! We all need our rest," he ordered sharply, making the dwarves jump at his tone, but they were all tired and weather beaten. Taking sluggish steps, Bow followed the dwarves and Hobbit up the staircase, glancing back at Thorin and Dwalin behind her.

Dwalin stood close to the Prince, whispering in his ear while his tattooed hand held his friends elbow. His face was pale under his bushy beard and the harsh sounds of his whisper urgent.

"You are mistaken, put it out of your mind!" Thorin snapped at his friend, pulling himself away suddenly, and marched upstairs: almost knocking her over in the process. Bow looked silently back at the warrior dwarf, who stood in semi darkness, his shoulders hunched slightly. He appeared much smaller than he usually did, somewhat diminished without his companion at his side.

Bow left him alone in the darkness and retreated to her massive bed. Wedging her boots securing under the frame, she took a running leap into the bed, and wriggled fully clothed under the blankets. She'd never slept in a proper bed before; it was cold at first and she welcomed the warmth of the fur pillows. And even though the room was spinning slightly, Bow soon drifted off into a deep comfortable sleep, the likes of which she'd never had before.

Light streamed in through the large windows, surrounding Bow with warm golden light. The massive bed dwarfed her entirely. She's pulled pillows around her like a fort and tucked her knees into her chest- Bow didn't stir when Bilbo knocked on the door to announce that breakfast had been served. It took a hard shake from Beorn to wake her up.

"An early sparrow catches the worm," Beorn chuckled and peered over her. Bow stirred and yawned, opening her eyes, her vision was blurred all she could see was the mass leaning close; revealing a sparkling grin and a twig tangled in his beard. Bow screamed involuntarily and rolled away of the bed, jacknifing into a defensive stance, fingers groping for her trusty knife, but they'd been lost in the belly of Goblin Town or on the cliff edge. As she clenched her hands into fists, clinking the mechanism of her assassin's blades, but then she blinked heavily and stifled a yawn. Her vision was thick and blurry, sleep still stung her eyes. Slow realisation hit her and the memories from the previous evening came ebbing back, she looked at the dark giant as a robin darted out of his bushy beard, before retreating back into the safety of its hairy nest.

Her assassin's blade were out and shining dangerously in the morning light.

Beorn's stance tensed and his shoulders hunched as if he carried a heavy burden, he let out a low blood curdling growl from deep within his chest, his eyes glinted dangerously staring malevolently at the weapons and he bared a sharp set of ivory teeth. Bow stared at the animal behind the mask: Beorn's aura had changed, plummeting into a savage rage. Slowly and deliberately she sheathed her blades and held her hands up, keeping her voice calculated and impassive as she spoke to him.

"I'm am sorry Beorn. You just took me by surprise," she withdrew the blades and lowered her hands, keeping her back to the wall: eyeing the open the door if she had to make a dash for it. But Beorn's breathing steadied and his aura cleared, turning back to his welcoming autumn. He straightened and smiled.

"Beorn has prepared breakfast," he said lightly, gesturing that she should follow him. She kept a close eyes on Beorn from that moment. He was unpredictable and if he turned bad Bow doubted that she could stop someone as large as him.

She glanced away as Kili emerged from the shared bathroom draped in a towel, his damp hair wrapped in a turban. He let out a panicked shriek then dashed into his room. She put this out of her mind as she became aware of the pounding in her head and temples. Bow staggered at the top of the stairs.

"Sparrow is wine sick. Beorn will help," Beorn chuckled, grabbing her belt and carrying her under his arm like a barrel. Bow swore angrily but her voice was hoarse and she couldn't put any effort into it.

She felt wretched; her head swam and her temples throbbed, her mouth was sand paper and like she'd licked a carpet. Beorn set her down on the bench next to the table and pottered away. Ori was next to her, his head in his hands, a cold cup of camomile tea next to him.

"I'm never drinking again, ever, ever again," he murmured desperately into his hands, his face a tinge of green and a strong smell of vomit surrounding him. Bow pitied him, thankful that she hadn't moved onto the harder liquor that Dwalin had carried in his hipflask.

"Well well' Look who can't take their liquor," Fili grinned smugly, his eyebrows raised mockingly. What little temper Bow still had she lost in that second.

"Any word out of you and there won't be enough to run through a sieve," she whispered darkly, didn't have to make her words sound threatening, her eyes were dangerous and blood shot.

"And how you gonna manage that?" Fili goaded. Bow glanced around, Ori was asleep and Beorn was busy near the fire. She beckoned the blonde dwarf closer. As he approached Bow grabbed the front of his jerkin and drew him near.

"You're gonna do it for me or I'll mention that Fili sized love bite on Kili's collar bone. Do we understand each other?" she breathed coldly, pushing him away roughly. "Just stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours." She turned away from the horrified dwarf and rested her head in her heads, a sudden wave of nausea hitting her square in the stomach. She heard Fili leave and then looked up as Gandalf appeared at her elbow.

"Are you suffering?" he asked, far too cheerily for his own good.

"Don't ask stupid questions," she retorted coldly through clenched teeth.

"Ori is quite a bit worse than you, he's been vomiting intermittently since dawn." Gandalf looked down at the sleeping dwarf and shook his head disapprovingly.

"Unless you can fix me, go away," Bow said, trying to supress another wave of nausea.

"I can in fact," the grey wizard said haughtily, pushing a smoking goblet into her hands. It was muddy green, fizzing and popping, smelling heavily of mushrooms. "My friend Radaghast perfected it with refined gunpowder root and Deathcap mushroom. Best hold your nose," he advised her, cringing away from the smell. Bow nodded and held her nose as the disgusting mixture ran down her throat. She gagged but kept drinking till it was all gone.

"Yuck!" she stuck out her tongue in revulsion, steam seeping from her nose and ears and fizzy around her skull. "I hate mushrooms!" she spat with venom.

"Beggars cannot be choosers," Gandalf stated matter-of-factly moving over to Ori. Beorn returned with a plate full of food.

"Eat," he ordered her, roughly patting her hair with a paw like hand. Bow pulled her head away from his hand and smoothed her braids, being careful to pat down any strays.

Now that her head was clear she found she was hungry and began scoffing down fried bread, bacon, and tomatoes; finishing it off with half a loaf of bread slathered in honey. Bow licked her fingers, appreciating the luxury.

Hangover mercifully cured, Bow looked for the rest of the Company.

The day passed by without serious incident. Actually, Bow enjoyed relaxation time. She never had time to recuperate, never had time to eat to her hearts content or bask in the splendid heat of the fire and not having to worry about being on guard in case of ambush.

The Company had spent most of the day outside, wrestling, walking in Beorn's glorious flower meadow, basking in the sunshine and playing tug of war. Bow watched them from a far, amused by their banter and friendly competiveness.

It occurred to her that these dwarves worked together with the efficiency of any military unit but yet still had the warmth of a family: Albeit a loud and unruly family.

Bow pondered this while they sat in front of the fire that evening. Rugs had been spread on the floor and talk was calm and peaceful: Everyone was savouring the time they had left, everyone except Bilbo who grumbled to himself while trying to fix his ruined waistcoat.

"Has anyone seen Kili or Fili? I haven't seen them since supper," Dori asked absently as he concentrated on his knitting.

"Kili's in bed with a headache, Fili's applying poultice I made up for him," suddenly Bow said loudly before anyone could reply. It was rash and impulsive but guilt had been plaguing her mind when it came to the heirs. She had lost her temper and now she had lost Fili's trust. The least she could do was give them an alibi.

"Call me a Sackville Baggins if I let myself wander with no waistcoat. Never heard of in the Shire – not ever- I knew I shouldn't have come. I let my trip to Frogmorton get to my head. No Baggins has ever done anything so stupid …." Bilbo chirped to himself examining his ruined waistcoat, Bow listening with amusement, before Gandalf called to him.

"What about your great great great great great Grandfather Bullroarer Took?" Gandalf snapped sharply, blowing smoke rings from his pipe.

"Ah, yes ,well he was a Took," Bilbo pointed out matter-of-factly. Bofur, who'd been carving a wooden bear figure, sat up on his elbow and titled his hat back so he could look at the Hobbit better.

"What did he do?" Bofur asked inquisitively, the rest of the Company also sat up and listened; Dwarves were well known for their story telling. Bilbo set aside his sewing and shot Gandalf reproachful look, before turning back to the eagerly listening dwarves.

"At the battle of Green fields he charged the goblin ranks and knocked the goblin king's head clean off. Apparently," he said irately: he'd never believed the story, even as a child.

"Awh well, blood never lies, don't second guess yourself laddie," Balin approached, smiling down at the disgruntled Hobbit.

"Khuzdul doesn't either, get him to say it in the ancient language," Bofur piped up, chuckling as he scoffed another jam tart.

"Khuzdul?" Bow heard herself say; the word was alien to her but it rolled naturally off her tongue.

"Aye, Ancient language of the Dwarves, first set down by Durin in the First Age." Balin said, taking a tone that he used to lecture the heirs of Durin.

"Little use if the words hold no meaning," Bow noted cynically, popping another crumb of seed cake in her mouth.

"You cannot speak in the ancient tongue?" Thorin asked directly, his deep voice rising above the light chatter, his face hidden to her as he sat away from the others, cloaked in semi darkness. Thorin had been silent to her since they'd entered Beorn's hall, only staring coldly and brooding, alone. Pain made him bad tempered but his ire was misplaced, snapping at any who neared him.

Bow chose to remain silent; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her flaw and she didn't want to hear the humiliating laughter or snide comments that would follow from the Company.

But to her surprise neither happened.

"Well, that is something that we shall have to remedy," Bow looked up at the sound of the light determination of his tone and she was met with deep opal's glaring from out the shadows. Thorin inclined his head without blinking. Bow returned his unrelenting gaze.

"Are we taking our leave tomorrow?" she asked in a business-like manner, faintly aware that the room had fallen deadly silent, all eyes staring at them.

"I think everyone is rested enough and I'm sure Beorn will want rid of us soon," Thorin answered directly, his piercing blue eyes delving into hers.

"Good, I have been contemplating the Mirkwood trails, I hope you did not intend on visiting with Thranduil?" Bow asked with mirth, enjoying how Thorin's eyes flashed with anger.

"I would sooner roast him over a spit," Thorin commented darkly and the Company laughed in agreement: Bow was thankful, for the silence felt like a heavy weight on her chest. But something still niggled in the back of her mind.

"Come on, get some sleep, we move out at first light," Thorin ordered loudly. The dwarves protested and groaned but began to move. Bow watched as the Company made their way up the stair case, pausing at the bottom she inclined her head and indicated that Thorin should go first. "At dawn then," he said simply when they reached the top of the stairs, he turned away and started to walk towards his room.

"Thorin, we need to get one thing straight," She straightened her spine and made her words challenging, clenching her jaw tight she prepared for the battle of wills that was to come. Thorin turned back watching her coldly, his body radiating dominant tension. "You may be a Prince but in Mirkwood my word is law, I have travelled it many times without detection, and if you follow my orders will do so again," Bow said obstinately, digging her nails into her palm as his anger rose and flared.

"Do you seek to usurp my authority?" He snarled, his steel blue eyes flashing dangerously.

"No , I'm just doing the job I was recruited for. Take my advice or leave it," she said sharply, spinning on her heel and making for her door. "But know this Thorin son of Thrain, more of your men will survive if you take it," she flung over her shoulder.

"As King I am the leader here-" Thorin spat, she could tell he was seething in anger at her gall, but at his words Bow lost control of her own anger and before she knew what she was doing she had a fist full of Thorin's tunic dragging him close so she could look in his eyes.

"Would your pride really get in the way of saving your men's lives. Think about what you gamble, is it really your place to bet with their trust? All I ask is that you take the advice of one who has hidden in Mirkwoord many times. It is dangerous and treacherous, but when your need is great, it serves." Bow let her anger wash over him; he needed to understand what his arrogance would bring them and if he did not see Bow was sure it would mean their doom. "I shall see you at dawn." She let her hands fall from his collar and stepped away from him.

Thorin looked like a beast getting ready to charge; he panted and glared with an fury that bordered on insane, but his face was like stone: Grey and blank.

Bow reached her door and stepped in, looking back at the incensed Dwarf how was frozen with anger. "And again Thorin- not my king," She jeered insolently before slamming the door shut.

She leant against the door, only daring to breathe when Thorin's heavy boots pounded down the corridor. She had made him mad.

Good, Bow thought dryly, enjoying the memory of the rage that had been on his face. His anger would get him through this, for the trials ahead dwarfed any that he had faced before.

Yes, she had travelled Mirkwood many times, but only when desperation made it unavoidable and she'd always lived to regret it. The dwarves may have seen much darkness, but never had they entered Mirkwood.

*Mukhuh Mahal udnîn zu ra sanzigil umkhûh zu,- May Mahal keep you and mithril find you!


	18. Nightmare on the Mirkwood Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: TORTURE! AND GRAPHIC VIOLENCE!

Bow had slept more in the past days than she had in years, so when dawn approached she was alert and energetic. After splashing water on her face and washing down her body quickly, she redressed in the clothes the Beorn had laundered and repaired, making sure her blades were fully hidden under the sleeves of her shirt and went to wake the rest of the Dwarves.

They moaned and complained when she ripped the blankets off them and kicked them out of bed but did eventually get moving. Herding the sleepy dwarves downstairs, Bow found Beorn had laid out a simple breakfast of porridge and honey, and was eating quietly next to Thorin. The Prince ignored her completely, offering warm greeting to the dwarves and Hobbit but none to her.

Eating quickly and packing away some warm loaves of bread in their pockets the Company shouldered their replenished packs and began to say their goodbyes to Beorn.

The bearded giant worked his way through the group bidding farewell and patting their heads roughly. When he reached Bilbo he pulled the Hobbit into a tight hug and twirled about with him held tightly to his chest. The Company howled with laughter as Beorn set Bilbo down and watched him stumble about dizzily. Finally he turned to Bow, arms outstretched, preparing to give her a bone crushing hug.

"Oh no you don't! Try an' give me a bear hug and I'll have your hide." She jabbed her finger at him, but kept her tone light with a hint of warning. The Company gave her nervous looks as Beorn straightened his back and rose to his full height, staring down at her with a sudden coldness, Bow swallowed and prepared her muscles to avoid his paw. But suddenly let out a long loud laugh that filled the hall.

"I would like to see you try little bird, Beorn would like to see that indeed," he boomed slapping her back roughly and making her stumble. Beorn led them out of his home to a nearby barn where he had prepared some horses for their journey. They were larger than what the Dwarves were used to, thin and lean, these horses were made for speed and not hard labour.

They would be a burden in Mirkwood- Bow thought practically, already the dreading the challenge ahead. Mounting a black horse with white socks, she wheeled around to have one last look at Beorn's wide wooden hall.

"Goodbye Dwarves!" Beorn boomed as they began their journey, waving madly.

"Goodbye and thank you!" Bow shouted back, amused by the man's odd behaviour.

"I will see you very soon my little Sparrow!" he boomed again, before running into the tree line around his home. Bow stared at the spot he had stood, confused by his cryptic talk.

"Do not mind Beorn. He is a mysterious fellow," Gandalf reassured her, chuckling lightly at her confused expression. But Bow couldn't think about cryptic talk of half mad hermits: She had other more pressing matters to attend to.

Urging the horses north they travelled until mid-morning at a steady pace. The Dwarves chatted and joked amongst themselves but Bow grew increasingly tense in the shadow of the forest.

Mirkwood by name; Mirkwood by nature.

At roughly 11:30 they reached the tree line of the forest. Bow ordered Gandalf to take the horses back to Beorn and meet them on the other side; she knew he had other business to attend to and couldn't deal with another person to worry about. The Wizard would be fine on his own, he always was.

The Company watched silently as the Wizard disappeared, their packs heavy on their backs and water skins full, they prepared to venture into the dark world of the forest.

"Everyone listen up!" Bow barked loudly making the dwarves jump. They glanced nervously at Thorin but when the Prince said nothing they turned their attention back to Bow.

"When we enter the forest there will be one rule and one rule only – do exactly as I tell you. Don't talk back, don't question, do exactly as I tell you when I tell you..." She let her words sink into the silence that had fallen. Thorin remained silent, but she could sense his dark aura bubbling with anger.

"And most important of all: Do not stray from the path. If you do you will die. If you don't do as I say you will die. Get left behind and you will die. Is that understood?" Her tone demanded respect and the dwarves nodded, all save Thorin.

"Good, now pair up." Bow commanded extracting a length of rope from her pack. The dwarves grumbled but paired up; Bofur with Bifur; Oin with Gloin; Bombur with Dori; Nori with Ori ; Kili with Fili; Dwalin with Balin and much to Bow's amusement: Thorin with Bilbo. Cutting each pair a length, they tired their wrists together, just loose enough that they could move freely but still have contact with each other.

"And what about you?" Dori asked haughtily, hating that he'd been partnered with Bombur.

"I am not the one you need to be worried about," she retorted sharply before silencing the rest of the dwarves. "Now, you are responsible for your partner, the forest effects people in different ways and it can befuddle the brain. Do not let your partner eat or drink anything that hasn't come from your packs. Right then, let's move out!"  
***  
And so they sank into the depths of Mirkwood, its darkness consuming them, until they felt as barren as the empty spiders webs around them, walking endlessly over bleached skeletons and dry twigs: Ever aware of the hidden eyes watching them.

Bow shivered and turned to do a head count again. She darted up and down the column of Dwarves as they walked, checking the perimeter and scanning the dense foliage for any sign of movement. The dwarves said little; the older ones were silent, knowing that she had spoken true of the dangers that lurked here; the younger ones chatted amongst themselves but quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence of the forest.

Suddenly Bow flinched as she felt a hand tap her shoulder; she whirled round to find Ori in front of her, Nori standing impatiently by his side.

"I noticed... your hands at Beorn's ...and I made you these," Ori stammered, holding out a pair of fingerless gloves which were quiet similar to his own. Bow was surprised when a hushed laugh escaped from her throat.

"You..don't like them?" Ori asked nervously, his shiny black eyes quivering slightly.

"Not at all, it's just bizarre in a place as horrid as this we can still find small comforts,-" she mused slipping on the grey cuff, before looking back at the youngest dwarf. "Thank you. Now get back in line." Bow used a softer tone but it still remained commanding and he scrambled off, pulling Nori with him. **

They walked for more than three days in this manner. The Company moaned a little at first but soon the lack of wind and sunshine broke their spirits. Even Thorin, who had resorted to carrying Bilbo on his back to stop him tripping, didn't bother glaring at her anymore, merely kept his head down and trudged along.

On the fourth day at about midday, Bow announced that they were more than half way through when they reached the Enchanted River. Her words got no cheers or smiles; the Company was drawn and pale and looked wretched.

"Let's rest a bit, we are making good time," she announced trying to keep her voice up beat and cheerful, though a dark depression had settled over her too: Bow just knew how to hide it better.

The Company collapsed thankfully in heaps on the mossy bank and started taking careful sips of water from their water skins. Bow had ordered that water should be conserved and food should be eaten only in the evenings to prevent daytime predators tracking them in to the night. But she could see it was taking its toll.

"Here, share this out," Bow said impassively, digging deep in her pack and retrieving the last bread loaf that Beorn had given them. It was hard and stale but she'd been saving it for an emergency like this one. She tossed it to Bilbo who looked as if she'd given him a diamond; he openly gaped at her in awe.

"You all could do with a treat," she shrugged at him and looked away, guilt welling in her gut. The Company watched as Bilbo ripped the loaf into equal pieces and handed them out. The Company scoffed the bread and sat savouring the taste.

Bombur's stomach gurgled loudly and he stood up and shifted his belly in discontent.

"What I wouldn't do for a nice leg of roast lamb or boiled eggs and soldiers or roast duck in plum marinade ,-" Bombor said licking his lips dreamily when suddenly his partner, Dori, sprang to his feet.

"I've had enough! Day in day out; food, food, food! It's all you bloody talk about. You're not the only one who is hungry!" Dori yelled at his cousin, his voice splintering the chilling silence of the forest.

"Dori keep your voice down!" Bow commanded in a frantic whisper.

"Not until he promises not to mention food again!" Dori advanced on the stricken Bombur and shoved him hard in the chest. Bow watched as Bombor reached out {in slow motion}, grabbing at Dori, but he stumbled backwards on slimy green rocks beneath into the murky waters of the Enchanted River.

Before she knew it she was moving, Bow's dagger slashed through the air and cut Dori's rope, stopping him being dragged into the water. Then dashed down the river bank, the Company coming close on her heals. In a split second she saw her opportunity and took it.

"Thorin hold me!" Bow shouted over her shoulder, throwing out her arm and leaning towards the water. Thorin gripped her hand and wrist, the dwarves held his belt, anchoring them to the bank. In a gush of water, Bombur's body rushed towards her. Thorin shouted at Bow but she didn't listen as she reached further out, catching Bombor by his long plaited beard. The dwarves hauled them in and rolled the fat Dwarf onto the bank.

He was out cold but mercifully breathing. Dori sobbed as he cradled Bombur's head, Bofur and Bifur holding his hands, both looking pale and tired.

In that moment she wished Thorin was leading them again. The dwarves looked to her for comfort and she could offer them none. Bow stared blankly at the huddled figures. She swallowed thickly looking for the best course of action but Thorin's voice replaced her own.

"Move back into the tree line. Dwalin and Balin secure the area, Nori and Ori get a fire going, Oin and Gloin help drag Bombur into camp," Thorin ordered his voice deep and unquestionable. Bow caught his eye and inclined her head-Thank you. Thorin nodded back with understanding at the unspoken words, his blue eyes warm and friendly: he too knew the difficulties of leading.

Leadership did not come natural to her, it was like trying to walk in someone else's clothes but for Thorin he made it look as easy as breathing. And for that, she was jealous but also knew the weight that leadership carried: he bore his burden silently without complaint and Bow admired this quality, though she would never admit it openly.

They built a fire and ate a meager meal. Morale was low, there were no stories tonight. Night darkened around them and Bow volunteered first watch: no one questioned her.   
***  
They came in the dead of night.

Bow shook herself and tried to suppress an odd tingle that ran up her spine, the hairs on her arms stood up, and the fire spurted out. She dug her nails into her palms drawing blood as she fought the pull of sleep. Her nose and eyes itched and tingled, scratching painfully at the back of her throat, as she became aware of a cold emptiness that spread through her.

Out of the pitch blackness, through the dense foliage and murky undergrowth, the elves of Mirkwood had come.

But it was already too late. Suddenly there was a low murmur of foreign voices as four tall figures emerged from the woods. Pale, elegant and clad in brown and green armour the Mirkwood Elves walked brazenly into the camp.

Adrenaline rushed through her veins, the cold sting of panic and a wave of nausea hit her simultaneously, as she tried to speak. Bow opened her mouth to cry out, to shout a warning to the sleeping dwarves but no words came out: Her mouth merely open and closed like a fish gasping for air.

The elves paid her or the Company no attention , as they peered down at the sleeping Thorin. He rested a few feet from her, his body slouched against the base of a tree, his salt and pepper hair draped about his face as he slept peacefully: Blissfully oblivious of the Elves studying him. A red headed female elf brushed a lock of black hair back around his ear and said something that her companions laughed at.

Terror consumed Bow as the female sliced through Thorin's and Bilbo's rope and bound his hands with a silver cord she produced from her belt, then pulled a thick canvas sack over his head. Blood and rage shrouded Bow's vision as she threw herself forward with a herculean effort, colliding limply with the woman's body. The four elves recoiled slightly; the female elf shoved her away with disgust, so that she fell across Thorin's legs.

The prince's body was limp and he slid to the ground, thumping his head hard against the earth. Bow glared from Thorin's unconscious body to the elves, throwing every ounce of anger and rage she possessed into defiant stare: a stare that promised every retribution and every curse she knew with her cold eyes.

A tall male elf with flowing blonde hair turned and spoke to his companions briefly, gesturing to her with a long elegant hand. The other elves shrugged and nodded. Bow couldn't even fight as they pulled the rough canvas sack over her head or as she was scooped up into the arms of one of the elves.

Revulsion and rage ravaged her; she couldn't flinch, couldn't fight, she was helpless as a bade. Cold sweat covered her body as she fought to steady her breathing, trying desperately to remember the route that the elves were taking as they walked. They seemed to rise over endless obstacles, then began to walk down hill. The air certainly got colder and damper, and Bow could feel goose pimples rise on her arms.

She heard the clink of keys and was set down on a cold hard floor. A cold piece of metal brushed against the sensitive skin of her wrists and then pinched painfully, hauling her arms above her head. The sack was pulled roughly off her head and her eyes adjusted briefly just in time to see the tall blonde elf slamming a cell door shut, throwing them into semi darkness. Opposite her Thorin was slumped, his head hanging limply down, his hands raised like hers in manacles.

Time passed, Bow wasn't sure how long, but sensations were beginning to return to her body as if blood was once again circulating through her veins. Pins and needles fizzed through her limbs making her body buzz with energy.

"Thorr-ren...Tor-R.." Her tongue felt thick and leathery as she tried to form his name with her numb lips and tentatively trying to reach out with her foot, in an attempt to kick him awake. She jabbed as hard as she could at his calf, her manacles clanking loudly; Bow recoiled at the noise but kept on jabbing. She scrunched up her face and bit her lips until she felt the blood flowing again.

"Wake...wake damn you!" The more she moved her body, the more she fought against the heavy drowsiness and the easier to became to move. "Wake up you son of an Orc!" Her voice was a hushed angry whisper, jabbing viciously at his calf again. Suddenly Thorin groaned and let his head loll against his shoulder.

"Not now, Lif," he mumbled sleepily, his voice was thick and groggy as he pushed his face against his shoulder using it as a pillow.

"Thorin look around. We've been taken prisoner by elves dammit!" Bow spat, kicking him even harder.

"What?" He asked in a perturbed tone, as if someone had disturbed his afternoon nap. Rubbed his face against his shoulder, wiping sleep out of his eyes, and looked around the room for the first time: And swore loudly.

Even in the dim light, Bow could see the Prince pale visibly as he clenched his jaw and tried in vane to pull his chains out of the wall.

"How did this happen? Where are the others?" He asked in a frenzied whisper. Somehow, this reassured her to calm her own rising panic.

"I'm not sure, you were all asleep, I was on watch and then..." She let her hoarse voice trail off, not knowing how to describe the events which had unfolded. "I think they used some sort of magic, cause the next thing I knew you're being probed and I'm in a sack." Bow tried to steady her tone but it was difficult. "The others were left behind I think," she added trying to sound optimistic.

Now that Thorin was awake, she faced another problem: Her claustrophobia. The stone walls were closing in and the darkness was pressing against her skin; she could feel the stale air scratch the back of her lungs and chill of the cold sweat covering her body. Bow pressed her body against the cold stone trying to steady her breathing, making clouds of steam blossom from her lips.

"Bow?" Thorin asked tentatively but sternly, nudging her leg with his boot. She swallowed the stale saliva that clogged her mouth.

"I am not the biggest fan of small spaces," she stated through clenched teeth, tugging at her manacles again, growing every more uncomfortable with Thorin's eyes shining at her in the darkness.

"But the Goblin tunnels and the Troll cave... Why did you come? Surely you knew a dungeon would wait at the end of the elves?" He was curious. For a dwarf with such a gruff exterior, her motivation was a mystery to him; she claimed to have no affection for kin and yet she'd risked her life countless times to save them. But adrenaline and danger loosened even the most flinty of tongues and Thorin didn't want to die with riddle left unanswered.

Bow was a realist and knew that there was a very good chance they would die here, miles away from Erebor. All of her secrets seemed so pointless now, so for once she gave the dwarf a clear answer.

"No one deserves to die alone at the hands of their enemies, especially at the hands of elves." Her frankness was disconcerting, to Thorin it was as if she had dropped a mask and underneath was the simple truth.

"I thought you had an affinity with elves; Lord Elrond seems to hold you in high regard," he mused watching her from the corner of his eye while he pretended to peer at the door.

"Wood elves are different; they are petty and spiteful. Lord Elrond keeps apart from them as much as he can. They do not...value life as he does." Her words were simple, merely stating facts but Thorin was caught of guard by Bow's voice rising to a fierce intensity from the darkness. "Thorin, you are a leader and a warrior, you have honoured the terms of out agreement and have kept my privacy. And I am thankful and I respect you for that. Now I must as favour?"

Thorin shuffled and strained against his bonds to lean forward. The fragility and fierceness in her tone was, well it was... frightening. Nothing appeared to get under her skin until now. What could you frighten someone who knew no fear?

"That would depend on what it is?" he replied with trepidation, half anxious, half curios to know the answer.

"Just promise me that if for some reason you have to leave me behind, you'll kill me rather than leave me to them," she growled, Bow's voice was fierce with coiled energy and Thorin saw through the darkness that her pale green eyes flickered with intense fire. She was letting him in under her armour, letting him see behind the anger and the curtain of bloodlust. She'd shown him her fear.

"What did they do to you?" The words jumped out of his mouth before he could think.

"Just trust me when I say I know how cruel beings can be but Wood Elves are the worst of them all. There is a very good chance we won't get out of here alive," she said steadily, trying to slow her breathing and calm her pounding heart. "If we survive Thrandruil's twisted nature, it will be a damn miracle." Bow closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted by the old memories that engulfed her.

Thorin growled with frustration and rattled his chains again, kicking at a rat that scuttled past them. A dark chuckle caught in his throat – Damn he hated irony, his father had rotted in Dol Guldur and now he was too: different jail same situation, like father like son. Fate was a cruel mistress.

Suddenly there was a rattle of keys and a clank of a lock being slid across roughly. Thorin and Bow both recoiled as light blinded and scorched their eyes. Two tall figures entered and grappled Thorin's manacles as he kicked and lashed out at them, snarling like a wild beast. But his hands were bound tightly and more elves entered to help drag him from the cell.

"Tell them nothing! Don't give them the satisfaction!" Bow bellowed, kicking an elf in the stomach, as she watched Thorin be dragged out. The elf swore and punched her hard in the face, Bow saw stars, and then was plunged into darkness again as the door slammed shut.   
***  
Hours seemed to pass for Bow but in reality in couldn't have been less than forty five minutes. Sick scenarios rushed round her head as she imagined what was happening outside stone walls.

Were the Company still free? Could she have done more to protect them? Would Thranduil kill them? Would he kill Thorin? They were in a bad situation, probably the worst that Bow had ever been in but at least they had one surprise up their sleeve. Presuming that the Company were captured, Gandalf would try and meet them on the other side. They still had the Wizard. He saved them in Goblin Town and he would do again. She hoped.

Bow held this thought close to her chest as the cell door sprang open and she was bound, gagged and blind folded, then dragged out. Her feet stumbled but pinching hands on her arms kept her from falling as she was pushed through cold hall ways and chambers. Suddenly she became aware of her feet echoing loudly and a hush falling over the room she had entered.

Thrown painfully to the ground and the blindfold ripped away, she knelt before Thranduil's carved wooden chair, with the Elvin king looking coldly down at her. He was thin and tall. His pale skin and eyes gave him a ghostly complexion, and he sneered down at her coldly. Robed in a floor length silver coat and cape, he appeared like a pillar of marble, bloodless and inhuman.

"What is your name, dwarf?" He asked smugly, smirking slightly when she tried to stand, only to be thrown on the floor again. Bow raised her chin defiantly, pushing the pain of her palms and knees to the back of her mind.

"I need a name to speak to you civilly. Now, your name?" he asked again in a drole tone as if growing bored by her. Bow shrugged off the hands on her shoulders and straightened her spine.

"Bow Sharp-tongue. But you need no introduction, Thrandiul King of Mirkwood, famous betrayer and oath breaker." Her words dripped with sarcasm and she grinned coldly at the King. Thranduil laughed shrilly and without humour.

"You are brave and stupid Bow, much like your Prince Oakenshield ," Thranduil said taunted, stepping off his throne and sauntering towards her slowly and gracefully, but his blue eyes had an emptiness that promised cruelty. He was taller the Lord Elrond, Bow's head barely reached past his thigh, it made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

"He is not my king but I thank you for the compliment," she scoffed, her tone was mocking and insolent. She kept her eyes fixed ahead as the King paced around her studying with his intense gaze. Suddenly he was in front of her, grasping her chin hard in his vice like grip, tilting her head up towards him, almost making her feet lift from the floor.

"There is no shame in accepting the inevitable," he sang in a cool soothing tone, "why suffer needlessly? Just submit to my will and tell me where your group are going? You would be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams, for within the hour I would have you draped in silk and damask, with dozens of servants at your beckoned call, a fine set of chambers and a permanent place at my table. Just tell me where you are going?" He made his voice sweet like honey, smiling pleasantly he released her chin and ran a long finger over her bottom lip.

Rage blinded Bow as her head darted forward and sank her teeth into Thranduil's palm. Warm blood filled her mouth and he cursed, smacking his knuckles into the side of her face. Her guards hauled her back and she spat the King's blood into a blonde elf's face. She turned back and glared at the King who nonchalantly squeezed his hand to stop the bleeding.

"I am not a toy. Do not play with me, for it will be the last thing you do," she snarled, pulling against hands holding her.

"I am not playing dwarf, and you better hope you never see me play. Thorin is immune to me and his anger bores me. I would not risk provoking war by torturing a King but you are another matter entirely." He paused, letting his words sink in. "And what to do with a She-dwarf who the prince withholding information, has grown attached to?" He smirked and idly studied the teeth marks in his hand.

"Then you know him less than you think. He will do what is right by the Company, individuals do not matter." Bow laughed coldly, enjoying the rage that flashed across Thranduil's pale face.

"But will you do right by your King?" he growled animalistically, showing his pearly white teeth.

"He is not my king but that doesn't mean I am a traitor," she retorted sharply.

"We shall see..." Thranduil's words died away as he gestured with his hand. Bow was blindfolded and gagged again, then dragged deep within the fortress.   
***  
Thorin paced like a caged animal. He growled at his guards if they came to close and refused to eat the tasteless Elvin bread that was given to him. Hours, days, he didn't know. His cell had no windows as it was deep underground. As a dwarf, he was at home in the earth, but the maze of catacombs he had been led through glowed green and fluorescent, making all tunnels look the same. At first he'd tried to memorise the route but it was pointless when all corridors were identical.

Thrandruil's face was burned into his mind; so mocking, so cunning. If he let him die here who would know? Noone. His Kin knew about his quest though he doubted any would risk their warriors in laying siege to the Mirkwood.

And so he paced, not knowing what to do; not knowing if the Company were safe or captured; not knowing what the elves planned; but more importantly not knowing if Bow was still alive.

He had asked his guards but one would say, "She was hung this morning at dawn, crows feast on her body." The other one would disagree and say, "King Thranduil makes her moan his name and whisper your secret mission in his ear like the whore she is." Thorin cursed them and their entire race, daring his sentries to take a step to close to the bars of his cell.

And then he cursed himself for his laxity: he had unknowingly become reliant on the idea the Bow would have a plan; Bow would get them out of their troubles. What was she doing now? Being carved up like a piece of meat or, worse sipping wine from a goblet in Thrandruil's hand.

An elf popped his head round the door and exchanged words with Thorin's guards and they left, their shift was over and new guards would takeover soon. Thorin grumbled angrily, kicking at the metal bars of his cell. Suddenly there was a whoosh of air and Bilbo collapsed on the floor, trying to stifle a cough, and tucking something back into his pocket. Thorin threw himself at the bars of his cell.

"Halfling!? What are you doing here?" Thorin asked desperately, fighting to keep the excitement and urgency out of his voice. But Bilbo hushed him, speaking low and urgent.

"There's no time, they will be back soon. The Company is here, we were attacked by spiders before we realised you were missing. No one was injured though I think Kili has a permanent fear of spiders now-"

"Bilbo, get to the point!" Thorin snapped, nervously glancing at the door.

"Right! Have you seen Bow? Was she with you when you were taken?" Bilbo asked in a stressed voice.

"Yes! She was taken with me. The sleeping powder didn't affect her as much. The last time I saw her was in the first prison cell I was put in but since then nothing," the Prince said, searching his brain for any other information that could help.

"Thorin, that was four days ago..." Bilbo's voice quivered a light and his face deathly white but before Bilbo could say anymore he vanished as Thorin's new guards entered.

"Khagam menu reliku pembu rukhas," he snarled under his breath and turned away from the over watching elves.   
***  
Bow involuntarily strained against the leather harness' around as the glowing ember of the red hot poker drew closer. Bow's mouth went dry and her blood pounded in her ears as the elf held the hot iron in front of her eyes, so that she could feel its heat and hear its sizzle.

"Tell me where you are going?" the tall dark haired elf asked. His voice was distorted through the leather mask he wore and his eyes hidden from her by the dark goggles that covered his face. His head twitched at an odd angle as he watched her eyes follow the glowing end of the glowing iron.

"Keep dreaming elf!" she cried, arching her back and throwing her head against the cold marble table beneath her as the hot iron drove against her skin again. She panted and sweated when it drew away.

"Let my King be kind to you, let him show you how he rewards. Just tell me where Thorin is going!?" Her jailer's voice washed over her like a slimy oil. His words repulsed her as much as his torture did.

"All kindness comes with a price," she spat at him, spraying spittle over his black goggles. He wiped it away with a leather clad hand and turned away his back to her, caressing his hands over the silver implements on the tray.

"Why are dwarves so stupid? Too much beard and not enough brain and yet you have no beard, so use your brain. Just tell me what you are doing here? Spying, stealing or...something else," the elf said lightly turning back to her and holding a long pair of silver pliers.

"Shall we see if you are as brave as you pretend to be little Dwarf?" he said coldly. Bow closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing, drawing herself to a simpler time, a simpler self: She closed her mind off and locked her world away in the depths of her mind. She would survive this! She would! She hadn't walked the four corners of Arda or fought tooth and nail for nothing. Bow clenched her jaw and tried to loosen her muscles: taking one deep breath, she turned to her jailer.

"Do your worst elf," Bow said coolly, watching the pliers wink at her in the dim candle light. He gave her nothing to bite on, so she had no choice but to scream. The sounds of her own agony filling her head until she thought her ears would bleed, her voice broke and an all uncontrollable agony consumed her. **

All the Company jumped when Bilbo appeared in front of the long line of cells. Lit by a single candle hanging from the ceiling, he looked ghostly and pale. He made frantic movements with his hands to quieten the eager dwarves, hushing them into silence.

"I have little time; your guards are on their way. I found Thorin," Bilbo began, breathlessly panting.

"Thorin!? Where is he?" Dwalin asked urgently, trying to squeeze his massive body through the tiny bars.

"No time, we move tonight. Be ready," Bilbo commanded before disappearing again.  
***  
Bow lay on the marble slab, sweating and shivering, every part of her screaming with pain. She tried to sleep but she couldn't: her body hurt too much.

"Little whore you killed me, you let me die alone, you are as bad as me, you are me! You are Smike! You remember those nights Girl, you remember the smell of blood on your skin and the feel of my hot breath in your ear on those cold nights…." Voices from the past whispered in the back of her head, voices from the forgotten past, from the lost pasts: they tried to lure her into the darkness, over the edge of the abyss, but she refused to fall.

Her eyes snapped open as she heard faint footsteps and hushed breathing. -Not again! Not so soon!- She thought, panic rushing through her. But she swallowed the bile from her dry mouth and steadied herself, drawing on what little reserves of strength she had.

"Are you coming in or just gonna stand and watch?" She tried to make her tone strong but her voice was hoarse and fragile. Suddenly out of the corner of her eye she saw a messy pile of curly ginger hair and Bilbo's face appeared beside her. He looked pale and tired, his shaking hands reached for her , his eyes welling up with tears. Relief washed over her, she clung to him in her mind, anchoring her to sanity.

"Bow, are you...I..Try and hold on." Bilbo laid a gentle hand on her arm, tears spilled freely down his cheeks, trying to soothe her pain. She must have looked terrible if Bilbo was moved to tears, but she tried to calm the Hobbit.

"Bilbo, which one of us should really be crying here?" Bow's rasped through cracked lips. Bilbo sobbed, then sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He had no handkerchief.

"I am going to get us out of here. I promise. Just hold on... just," Bilbo's voice was strong, hard and determined. His brown eyes blazed with fire. He disappeared for a second, then returned and dabbed her fevered brow with a damp cloth, dribbling a little water into her mouth. She shuddered violently at the glorious coolness of the liquid, savouring the feel of it soothing down her throat. Bilbo then made to clean her wounds.

"No, they can't know you've been here," she rasped hoarsely, trying to raise her hand but crying out as a fiery pain rushed up her arm. She realised that her wrist and fingers were broken and all her finger nails had been ripped off.

Bilbo watched her absently study her damaged hand, then suddenly leant forward to kiss her forehead gently.

"I am getting everyone out of here, just give me one more miracle and hold on. One more miracle for me," he demanded of her darkly before disappearing.   
****  
Thorin had spent days pacing, sitting and then pacing again. He had no time for sleep but his body did. But just as soon as he closed his eyes, he heard two heavy thumps. His guards lay on the floor unconscious, sprawled over one another in a deep sleep. Suddenly Bilbo peeped round the door and ushered the Company in.

"Be quiet!" Bilbo sshhed them as the Company ran to their Prince, grabbing at him through the bars. Bilbo passed a carved set of keys to Balin who quickly unlocked the cell door, Thorin dashed out and embraced his friend and his nephews then helped to pull the unconscious elves into his jail.

"Listen up, I don't know how long we have before they wake up but it should still give us plenty of time. I can't read elvish but the sleeping draft looked potent-" Bilbo babbled in a flustered manner.

" Bilbo!" Thorin warned harshly.

"Right sorry, Thorin follow the corridor to the bottom of the hallway, take two lefts, a right and the blue door on your left, then go down the flight of stairs to the cellar room. Wait for me there," Bilbo ordered Thorin determinedly. The Prince memorised the directions and nodded.

"Aren't you coming with us?" Fili asked suddenly, worried by the Hobbit's sombre face.

"Dwalin is coming with me to help carry Bow, we will meet you there as soon as we can," he stated indicating to Dwalin on his right.

"Am I now? What's wrong with her legs?" Dwalin said sarcastically crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bilbo visibly paled and looked over watchful faces of the Company.

"She was...When you see her you will understand," he swallowed a lump that formed in his throat and briefly met Thorin's cold gaze before nodding and moving out.

Bilbo and Dwalin moved through tunnels as silent as shadows. Keeping their backs to the cold fluorescent stone, Bilbo led Dwalin to the secluded chamber at the very edge of the catacombs. The door had a heavy lock on it but Bilbo made quick work in picking the lock, ushering Dwalin in and closed it behind himself.

"What in holy Durin's name..." The hushed words crept from Dwalin's throat as his eyes met the terrible sight before him. Metal instruments lined the walls and a single candle eliminated the marble slab that Bow was bond to. The room was freezing cold, Dwalin at first though she was a corpse if it had not been for the thin steam rising from her blue lips.

"Help me!" Bilbo whispered urgently, trying to reach a thick knife on the wall. Dwalin shook himself and gave the Hobbit the weapon and taking one for himself, setting to work on the leather straps.

"Bow, we've got you, just hang in there," Bilbo said trying to reassure Bow as much as himself. Bow's eyelashes flickered, her face was grey apart from the purple bruises that layered her skin, and a sweaty sheen covered her fevered skin. Blood and blistered flesh puckered under the tattered remains of her shirt, her feet were bound with bloody rags as she'd walked on glass, and her fingers were ragged stubs, pink and raw with the nails missing.

"Little rabbit has found his burrow," she rasped through cracked lips, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"She is delirious," Dwalin breathed to Bilbo struggled to look over the table and down at the She-Dwarf, a painful feeling squirmed in his stomach. He swallowed and looked away.

"Say that to my face you big oaf," Bow panted with the effort of speaking. Dwalin gently slid his arms under her body, tensing as she hissed in pain, and slowly slid her off the marble slab into his arms. Warm wetness pressed against his hands as he noticed long whiplashes that covered her back were now bleeding freely.

Bow used what little strength she had to keep herself conscience. Dwalin couldn't fight if she was limp in his arms, so she curled her body in tight and cradled her hand in the shelter of Dwalin's chest, barely aware that they were moving at all. Or were they? For all Bow knew it could have been one of her hallucinations.

"They will burn for this." Rage washed through him as he growled, almost blinded by fury.

"Maybe later but now we don't have time," Bilbo whispered urgently, ushering them through the door, closing and locking it behind him. Their progress was slower, Dwalin took great care not to jostle Bow to much as the jogged down the hallways, and they had to be particularly careful on the staircases. But eventually Dwalin, Bilbo and Bow reached the cellar room where the Company was hiding.

Immediately Dwalin passed her limp body over to Oin and Gloin who set to work trying to patch her up. Dwalin's fur jerkin and his bare arms were stained with her blood and he watched silently as the brothers worked, ignoring all questions that were put to him.

Finally coming out of the dark corner of his mind, he turned to Thorin and turned his empty gaze to the Prince. "They tortured her Thorin, I ain't ever seen likes of it before," Dwalin told the Prince, his voice void of emotion. Thorin was white as a ghost as he knelt by the guide's side, eyeing her damaged hand and face coldly.

"I didn't tell em', I didn't say anything, even..." Bow mumbled her eyes half lidded staring absently into empty air.

"I know you didn't, you did me proud," he said stiffly, swallowing a fist sized lump pushed painfully in his throat. Bow blinked suddenly and opened her eyes, tentatively licking her dry lips as she tried to sit up. Oin and Gloin protested but she winced and ignored them.

"What are you all staring at?" she hissed at the Company who turned away quickly. Ripping bandages out of canvas sacks, she allowed Oin to wrap her hand and feet with the coarse material. The world tilted under her and her head swam like it wasn't attached to her body. She licked away some of the blood in her mouth and fought to stop herself fainting.

"Quickly everyone into a barrel," Bilbo ordered tartly, ushering them with frantic movements of his hands. The Company protested loudly but Bilbo silenced them with a manically stressed look. Gloin slapped his brother on the back, a manic glint in his eye.

"Certainty of death, small chance of success, what are we waiting for?" He grinned and in a very Dwarven way, threw himself into a barrel, the others following him example.

Thorin moved close to Bilbo and whispered darkly, "She will not survive alone," in his ear. They both feared the worst but to admit it out loud like a bucket ice in the face.

"I will tell you what I will and will not survive Thorin son of Thrain, now get me in a damn barrel." With a strength she didn't know she had, Bow made her voice sound strong, she reached out her better hand to Thorin and he pulled her gently to her feet. She refused help as she limped heavily to her chosen barrel without aid: though her face was grey and covered in cold sweat and bile was itching its way up her raw throat. Blood soaked her bandages and, holding her broken hand close to her chest, she struggled suppress and violent shiver.

"See, I could put you all to shame yet." She smiled thinly, raising a challenging eyebrow to anyone who would question her.

Thorin had to hide a smile as he was reminded of the first time he'd met her. She's insane or has some serious balls. Probably a bit of both. It had been one of his first thoughts: It was as true then as it is was now.

Dwalin helped lift her into a barrel, looking quickly away as her blood smeared the dry wood, then with a simple nod shoved the lid on tightly.

When all the dwarves were safely parcelled into individual barrels, he waited impatiently to cut the release rope of the trap door.

CRACK-SPLOOOZ-SHWING-GUDOOSH! Gandalf's fireworks hidden under Thrandruil's chair on a timed fuse were a perfect diversion for the splashes of the barrels. Bilbo grinned and cut the release rope, dived into his own barrel and rolling down the gangplank into the swirling waters the forest river, floating down stream and away from Thrandruil's halls.


	19. Anagorisis in Lake Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't skim read. You may miss something crucial that the story hinges on in later chapters.
> 
> Anagnorisis- Ancient Greek theatre term, used to describe when characters have a sudden realisation or epiphany.

In the darkness she shivered; not light entered her world anymore. There was blackness and there was pain, the two were one, suffocating and all-consuming: if it wasn't for the constant lapping waves or the inconstant rise and fall of the water Bow would have lost her fight with the darkness.

Was she awake or dreaming, or merely stuck in the foggy in-between of life and death? Bow had died before but this was a deep nightmare that consumed even her waking hours. In the past when the night terrors took her, Bow would open her eyes and stare up into the starry darkness, but now she closed her eyes and hid her face, pressing it against the barrels comforting roughness. And she sobbed, for the first time since she could remember, and prayed that the confining darkness would end and the pain would heal as all her others had in the past.

Her world would rock and reel and her empty stomach would heave. She would try and wipe her cracked lips against her hand but searing pain shot through her. She would scream into the darkness but no one would answer. She was alone. So alone. Alone with the ghosts of the past and the flickering flame of memory; lost to the world and her battle against fate and the inevitable.

Bow's mind drifted through time and whirling spaces. The distant light of the sun moved unseeing over the horizon and into the unknowing abyss of the sea, white shores of sparkling sand sang to her and she moved towards them, dancing on their most distant edge, until the she could almost feel the breeze on her face and warming her skin.

Bilbo struggled and fought against the current of the fast flowing river to push the heavy barrels up onto the sandy bank. But his Tookish streak refused to give up, he couldn't let the dwarves down and he certainly couldn't let Bow down, not after everything they'd been through and certainly to after what she'd been through for them.

He clenched his teeth as the heavy oak barrel slammed into his chest. Fighting the tugging current he rolled the first barrel to safety and chivvied the tight lid off with Sting

"I knew that was a bad idea!" Gloin gasped and recoiled at the stinging sunlight that hit his eyes. He growled hoarsely, trying to drag himself out of the barrel but merely ended up flopping helplessly with numb muscles. Bilbo didn't have time for an angry reply, more barrels were coming thick and fast, and he could not afford to let any slip through his arms. With much complaining Bilbo pulled Gloin to his feet and they both helped to catch the floating barrels as the neared the sandy bank. Once freed the dwarves gasped and moaned with the pain of their aching limbs and joints and stretched out thankfully on the warming sand.

"Where is Bow?" Dwalin asked suddenly, becoming aware that their injured guide was nowhere in sight. Dwalin got to his feet slowly and limped around the clearing, others started to do the same but Bilbo went to reassure them.

"Her barrel hasn't come down yet, if she had landed I would have seen her," Bilbo called out, painfully getting to his feet again and wading into the water. To his surprise the Company followed him. They stood silently in a semi-circle their hands outstretched and Kili called out when the last barrel came over the horizon and the Company caught it easily, pushing it gently to the shore line.

A hush fell over them. No one dared voice the fears that they all shared, no one dared say what they were all thinking.

Thorin snatched Sting from Bilbo's trembling hands and sank it deftly into the edge of the wood, prying the tight lid off.

A relieved gasp escaped from Thorin's lips and Bilbo thanked the gods. Bow was unconscious but alive, or just; her face was scratched and battered with deep purple bruises. She shielded her swollen red eyes behind her damaged hands which had seized into weak fists, and the skin had split where her knuckles had swelled. Her ashen skin was tear stained, wet tracks running freely down her cheeks and her cracked bleeding lips moved slightly as if trying to form words.

"Aϋle be merciful…." Balin whispered under his breath and fiddled with his lucky amulet. The Company stared down at their guide. Small and broken, it was as if for the first time they realized she was mortal. The Dwarf without fear, unwavering and determined, she been one surety that they had come to depend on. And now she had been broken.

"Fili, Kili, scout the next clearing. Dori, Nori, Ori, gather what food you can find. Bombur, help the sons of Ris. Bifur and Bofur, get a fire going in the clearing," Thorin rallied his men. Straightening his back and lifting his head high, he made his voice powerful and determined even though his own strength ebbed. They needed someone to follow; they needed their King to be strong for them even when he was not.

The Company hopped to their orders without complaint, their movements sluggish and slow. It was then that Thorin met eyes the Hobbit. Bilbo nodded with understanding and moved away, busying himself with retrieving some parcels he had managed to spirit away in his barrel.

Bow had made a sacrifice for the good of the Company, Thorin couldn't begin to pay her back but he could certainly show his appreciation and the respect that she was owed. Laying the barrel on its side, Thorin took her by the underarms and as gently as he could eased her out of the barrel. She didn't make a noise and was relaxed in his hands, not even flinching when he laid a hand on the back of her neck to lower her carefully on the warm sand. He crouched over her, anger burning like a Forges' as his eyes roamed over her ruined face, her arms, her hands, and her poorly bound feet.

Dwalin's shadow blocked out the sun, his face was pale under his beard and his brow was crinkled as he too stared at their Guide's broken body.

"She should not have had to suffer that, the old ways have not been practised since darker times," his gruff voice was surprisingly cautious, as if his words were to release an unspoken evil. Dwalin handed Thorin a sodden piece of cloth. Washed clean in the river, it was a good as any cup. Thorin pressed the wet fabric to Bow's mouth, letting water trickle down her parched throat.

"I fear the Greenwood is not the place we once knew my friend-" Thorin began to say sombrely, but Bow let out a hacking cough, her eyes flew open and she jacknifed; grabbing Thorin's hand, and sinking her nails viciously into his palm. She panted, twisting Thorin's wrist to a dangerous angle as she stared at him unseeing, her mind lost to the horrors of the waking dreams.

"Here Lass, calm yourself!" Dwalin tried to reassure her, but she began to struggle and rave, screaming as loud as her damaged voice would let her.

"She'll draw them to us!" Thorin snarled frantically as he managed to wrench his wrist out of her grip. From the forest the Company came running, panic written on their faces. Dwalin growled and leapt forward, planting his body, wrapping his massive arm around her body and pressing his hand over her mouth. She thrashed wildly, opening up old wounds that had scabbed over. But he didn't move, just held on grimly with the Company watching Bow pitifully, as if she were some caged animal gone mad.

Just as her muffled cries scared the birds from the treetops, Bilbo sprang out of the trees and skidded to a stop just in front of Dwalin and Bow. Cupping her face with his travel worn hands; he pressed his forehead against hers and let his eyes burrow into hers.

"Now, you can put a stop to that! Really, all this fuss over nothing, I am surprised at you Bow," Bilbo snapped in a Tookish tone and brushed his thumbs soothingly down her cheeks.

Shiny with sincerity and earnest, the Hobbit's eyes cut through her like a knife. They were scared and lost and far from home but he didn't show fear. Bilbo had got them out, he'd got her out. Crystal clear clarity dawned over her mind and Bow's eyes cleared and she went slack in Dwalin's arms.

"Let me go," her voice was weak but unfaltering. She touched Dwalin's thick arm around her shoulders. Dwalin looked to Thorin, who nodded, then shifted his body and pulled them both to their feet. Bow was ashamed that there wasn't the strength in her limbs to hold her, she winced as her tattered feet touched the sand; as she began to fall Bilbo caught her and tucked himself under her arm.

Bow tried to smile but her lips cracked and her face hurt, so she turned her steely gaze back to the Company. "What's the plan?" Bow asked, lifting her head up and tried to keep her voice strong. Thorin looked down at his boots then met her pale eyes.

"We shall make camp for tonight, and then move off tomorrow," the Prince ordered and the Company agreed strongly, wanting nothing better than fall down and sleep. As the Company began to move off, Bow took a tentative step forward, gripping the drenched fabric of Bilbo's shirt and biting the inside of her mouth as her raw foot came down of the sand.

"Give her here," Thorin ordered Bilbo and made to lift Bow into his arms, but Bow glared at his hands and drew away as best she could.

"I'll need to walk eventually. What's the point of delaying the inevitable?" she said shortly and grinned darkly as she took a painful step forward. Thorin couldn't hide a smile spread on his face. She was stubborn and resilient and obstinate, no matter what.

By the time Bow and Bilbo reached the clearing, a fire was burning merrily. Cold sweat covered Bow's skin, stinging the deep welts on her back, but she ignored the pain and sat basking in the warm glow of the fire: thankful that she didn't have to put her weight on her feet anymore. They had managed to gather some wild mushrooms and Riverweed from their surroundings. Bow was first to be offered some but in truth she was barely keeping down water.

"I wonder where Gandalf is," Bilbo ventured lightly, his spirits had risen now that the fire had warmed him through, and he was determined to not to worry Bow with his dark mood. But she didn't say anything, her battered face was half in shadow hiding the dappled purple-black bruises, and merely kept her eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the fire.

"He's probably sat somewhere with his feet up in front of a fire-,"Gloin added, picking a bit of baked Riverweed from his beard.

"With a mug of ale-,"Dori jumped in dreamily.

"And a pipe full of Old Toby. He always had a knack of never running out of Toby, he smokes like a chimney but never seems to run out," Bilbo said ruefully, glancing doubtfully at a mushroom Bombur had offered him.

"Do you know a path to Laketown from here?" Thorin's stern voice caused all chatter halted as he addressed Bow, his glacial eyes burning at her over the flames of the campfire. Bow shifted a little and dragged a hand through her dark hair; her braids had come half undone, leaving her a messy tangle over her shoulders.

"I suppose its half a day's walk to Esagaroth, from there we walk along the water's edge maybe two days to get into the city," Bow's voice was calm and clipped, she had ventured close to Laketown a few times over her years of travelling, but never had she dared ventured into the city.

"Could you give me more detailed instructions, land markings or trees, things that we can look out for?" Thorin snapped in an exasperated tone, poking a stick viciously into the fire.

"What's the point of that, when I can just show you?" Bow questioned, making her voice deliberately slow.

"You're not coming with us." Thorin said sharply. No one around the camp moved or said a word. The fire crackled, Thorin and Bow watched each other over the dancing flames; the Prince's face was framed by a dark curtain of black hair, making his electric blue eyes shine with pure concentration. Bow glared at the male-dwarf, keeping her face void of emotion: their wills battled each other and the rest of the world fell away.

"Is that so?" Bow said mildly, cocking her eyebrow in an amused manner.

"Time is against us and you are injured. We need to move quickly and you will only slow us down, you will be a burden. I will still abide by the terms of our contract but this is as far as you come," Thorin kept his voice level, he did not bother to cushion his words or make them seem sympathetic or soothing, he knew she would not appreciate the falseness: so he simply said it like it was. Bow paused for a moment, taking a sip of water from a cup that had been made out of a water lily leaf, the tension mounted with every passing second.

"The funny thing is Thorin Oakenshield, three weeks ago you were saying exactly the same thing about the Hobbit, and look what he's gone onto achieve: he's saved you're pompous ass two maybe or three times, since then. I have always healed fast, by tomorrow walking will be easier and within a few days my cuts will have closed," she stated harshly, enjoying how anger flared in Thorin's eyes, Bow ground her teeth as she got to her feet: all eyes watched her. "I will heal and I will see you safe to the mountain, whether you like it or not." She pushed herself carefully to her feet, fighting the urge to wince, turned on her heel and limped out of the clearing towards the river, then called over her shoulder- "It is a chore that needs to be done; but I wouldn't feel right just leaving you to get yourselves killed."

When Bow eventually made it out of the clearing, Dwalin let out a snort of laughter, Thorin's head snapped to glare at his friend.

"She's got a point and she ain't exactly weak, is she?" Dwalin said begrudgingly.

"I can't believe you're on her side, just because she reminds you of-" Thorin began to retort seething with anger but he suddenly bit back his words, Dwalin's eyes went wide and they both stared at each other in silent communication.

"Without a map there is not much point us leaving her. The time we lose with being slowed down, we'll make up in not getting lost," Balin stated matter-of-factly as if lecturing one of the heirs of Durin.

"Actually that's not strictly true," Bilbo piped up suddenly. All heads snapped in his direction.

"What do you mean?" Thorin's voice was husky and gruff from exhaustion. Glancing around at the faces of the Company, he reached back into the foliage where he'd hidden a small bundle that he'd managed to carry in his barrel. Bilbo held the small leather bundle out to Thorin, who rose and took it gently out of the Hobbits hands, the Company were silent as Thorin let the package unfurl in his hands. A gasp rippled over the Company as the dim firelight reflected of Thror's silver key and the map. Something caught in Thorin's throat as he brushed his fingers over the familiar objects.

"I would have got Orchrist but Thranduil had it strapped to his belt," Bilbo added quietly, shuffling his feet a little before he sat back down.

Thorin couldn't speak for a moment, the weight of the key and map were comforting in his hands and brought what Bow had said into a new clarity for him. "You truly are a burglar Master Baggins," Thorin said quietly and inclined his head respectfully down to Bilbo.  
***  
Night had fallen and the moon was partially clouded over. Bow ached, exhausted. She was bruised and battered, cut and scraped and broken but on the bright side at least all her wounds were now clean. It was her torn feet and ruined hand that would be the real problem.

She washed the rags that had been discarded on the river bank and bound her feet tightly. Then, with a great deal of fiddling, she made a brace for her hand and wrist and bound it with tree vines.

She had lost all she had ever owned; her duffle bag, her fur hood and winter clothing, the knives she'd borrowed from Beorn's and the assassin's gauntlets. Now, she hardly had a shirt to her name. The shirt in question wasn't more than filthy rag; the back had been torn opened, the front was covered in large scorch holes and the white cotton was now a shade of grey. But without any means of repair or replacement there was nothing to do except ignore it. At least her trousers were still intact.

A thought struck her as she tentatively limped back to camp, reaching the edge of the clearing, leaning heavily against the branch of a tree to rest her feet and holding her braced hand close to her chest, she called to the Company making them jump.

"Ori, your gloves- I forgot to tell you. They were destroyed, the elves unravelled them," Bow told the young dwarf, sad that his hard work had been ruined so thoughtlessly. Bow pushed off from the tree and took her place back down in front of the fire. Ori looked distraught for a moment. "I am sorry," she didn't know where it came from but Bow was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of loss. In the dark of her mind there was the whirlwind of painful memories of Thrandruil's dungeons and a brief glimpse of yards of wool being stretched and studied. They had been the first present she had ever been given: and she blamed herself for their loss.

"It's alright, I'll make you more when I get some wool but why did they unravel them?" He asked her quietly, his dark eyes flashing like lumps of coal in the darkness; he looked at his brothers as he asked the question. The Company looked bewildered, when Bilbo chuckled to himself.

"You've never heard of messages written in weave before? The Lovers' code?" Bilbo piped up matter-of-factly, looking around at the curios faces. Even Thorin and Dwalin looked at him with interest. Bilbo sat taller. "Well, every row of stitches you put in a pearl or a special knot in place of the letter you want to spell, so for example-" he leaned over and ran his hand down Ori's woollen sleeve. "- this row spells, KATSPA. For secret messages it comes in handy."

Ori looked a little crestfallen that he had no secret messages in his knitwear, but then produced his notebook, which he had managed to hide, began scribbling. Bilbo looked wistfully into the fire, jolting back into himself when Balin asked him a question.

"And does this get used a lot in the Shire?" Balin asked with interest.

"My father sent my mother an entire sonnet woven into a winter cloak when they were courting," Bilbo answered with pride, remembering how exactly his mother had told the story.

"Sounds like quiet a rogue," Nori noted with approval.

"He was indeed! In his day, he could charm the knickers off a nun- Pardon my language Bow," Bilbo blushed scarlet and studied his feet.

"But I thought he was a Baggins, ain't Baggins' awful propped folk?" Kili asked with curiosity, casting his mind back to the glory box in Bilbo's hallway.

Bilbo Baggins chuckled and tugged awkwardly at his gaping waistcoat. "Well, compared to my Took mother, he was awful proper: he actually turned out to quiet a calming influence on her. When they first met my mother wrestled a wild dog to save my father Bungo and in return he gave a brace of rabbits, and they started courting." Bilbo finished and folded his hands lightly on his lap.

"Hold up, you give your Sweethearts food as courting gifts?" Bofur asked with bewildered interest, the Company didn't know whether to approve or not, the tradition conflicted with their love of gold and food.

"Of course we do! Any hobbit who wishes to court presents a gift of food or flowers, I always preferred ginger wine," Bilbo said with a cheeky grin.

"So no jewels or gold? No trials of worth by combat?" Dwalin asked in disbelief which mimicked the rest of his companions, all but Bow, who had no idea what any of them was talking about.

"Trials of Worth?" Bow leaned over to her right and asked Balin quietly, not wanting to draw attention to her lack of knowledge on the subject.

"A dwarf proves his or herself in combat to show they are worthy of courting, to risk one's life is seem as noble but to save your intended's life is the highest of honours indeed. Though considered old fashioned, saving your lover's life almost always leads to marriage," Balin stated loudly, ignoring the fact she was trying to be subtle.

"Not my Lyngvi, she saved me when I was this close to being ripped open by-"Gloin exclaimed loudly and with pride, but Ori interrupted him before he could continue.

"So who usually gives the gifts, Hobbit or Hobbitess?" Ori asked Bilbo directly, pen hovering over his paper, completely oblivious to Gloin's disgruntled snort.

"Anyone, female to male, male to female, male to male-" Bilbo was ticking them off on his fingers when he was, again interrupted.

"WHAT?!" ten voices called out at once, all save Bow and Ori, the Company looked aghast at Bilbo's statement: they openly gawked open mouthed at the conservative Hobbit.

"Well...yeah, quite a few married couples I know are-"Bilbo shrugged and began shifting uncomfortably under the Companies astounded stares.

"Hold on a minute! You mean it's allowed in the Shire and not... well, discouraged," Nori asked in amazement: Bilbo bristled at the statement.

"Of course it's not! You can't exactly choose who you're attracted to." At the Dwarves uncomfortable silence, Bilbo floundered "- I mean don't get me wrong, a pretty Hobbitess with a nice bustle any day-"

"I see nothing wrong with it," Bow declared suddenly, all eyes around the camp fire turned to her, they fell silent: the only noise being the crackle of the fire and sound of the trees until Thorin spoke.

"If it was right then why does it end bloodlines and family names? It is a male's duty to couple with a female and have offspring for the good of the clan, there are few enough females as it is, we cannot have a surplus of Male-dwarves wasting themselves on self indulgent luxuries of the flesh." Thorin said with strength and passion that seemed to blow all other arguments out of the water. Bow could see his point and the practical side of his words but from the corner of her eye she could see two very silent and very pale young dwarfs, who couldn't hide the solemnest disappointment at their uncle's words.

"I don't think I understand. There's no difference between male and female, is there?" Ori asked his brothers innocently. The Company had a completely mixed response; Dori and Nori gaped at each other in horror, Thorin turned away uncomfortable and become fascinated by a pebble by his boot, Balin held his head in his hands, Dwalin's sides shook in a effort to suppress his giggles, Bofur hid his face in Bombur's beard and Bifur looked blank.

But before any of them could answer, Bow raised her good hand for silence and saved them all from embarrassment. "Ori, the answer to your question is difficult to define and right now, I do believe we are all too tired to give you an answer that would satisfy your curiosity. So, I suggest we all sleep on it." Glancing around the campfire the Company were giving frenzied nods in agreement. And so without much of an argument from Ori, the Company went to sleep all save Bow, who sat up and watched the stars until dawn came.   
****  
The rags that bound Bow's feet swam with hot sticky blood. Every step brought stinging pain. The fever that raged internally helped to cloak the pain somewhat but she couldn't afford to have another seizure and show that kind of weakness again. No, not in front of Thorin, if he even had an inclining he would demand she stay behind: and this time Bow doubted that she would be able to fight his order.

By early afternoon she was delirious, her vision flickered and her knees buckled but she still had control of her mind. As they neared the West bank of Long lake Bow could just make out the skyline of Lake town and the smoke rising from the chimneys: the sight chilled even Bow's fevered bones with terror.

Never daring to venture too close to Laketown Bow was taken aback when they suddenly came into view of a harbour and a line of boats pulled up on the muddy waters edge. Obviously designed for the purpose of ferrying goods that came through Mirkwood to Lake Town, the Lakemen were a grubby bunch.

She counted half a dozen merchant vessels pushed up on the banks of the muddy river, and double the amount of smaller fishing boats bobbing on the water with nets out. Thorin conferred with Balin and Dwalin in private conference before they all nodded in agreement. The Company made their way down the dock, pausing to ask question to each of the boat's Captain but each time Thorin would shake his head and continue. Bow followed silently until they came to the very last boat.

It was a smaller ship that had seen better days, it's black paint was peeling and its sails were torn in a few places but other than that it had been cared for. The Captain sat on a barrel, mending a pair of socks with needle and thread.

"Ahoy there! What would you do for gold?!" Dwalin demanded from the head of the gangplank. The Captain looked up from his work and shrugged in a bored manner.

"That would depend on what you'd want me to do," he stated with disinterest, before turning back to his sewing.

"Could you ferry us to Lake Town?" Balin called, exhaustion beginning to show on his older frame. The Captain set down his needle and thread and walked up the gangplank to the Company. He was not a tall man as men go, but he still towered over the Company and yet he didn't look down at them. He tweaked his moustache thoughtfully as he studied their faces individually, his eyes paused and did a double take at Bow but he said nothing.

"It has been a long time since we have had Dwarves in Laketown. I apologise if you haven't been welcomed , the winter months are a lean time for us Lakemen. You say that want to go to Lake Town?" The Captain addressed Thorin directly, judging his demeanour and tightly held spine that he was the leader. Thorin took a step forward and nodded stiffly.

"We do, but can offer no gold or coin for the service." His words and tone were tight and brittle, the great prince was again the beggar prince and it gnawed at him.

"I wouldn't take it anyway. You all look terrible, were you robbed?" The Captain asked sincerely, glancing at their bedraggled appearance with concern.

"You have no idea," Bofur snorted, pulling his flattened hat out of his eyes.

"High tides in three hours, I've got to pick up a leather shipment anyway so I may as well give you a lift," the Captain held out his hand to Thorin, who eyed the dirty knuckles with suspicion, he glanced at Balin and Dwalin and briefly at Bow before taking the man's hand and squeezing it hard. The Captain smiled warmly, seemingly immune to Thorin's icy exterior, "Excellent to have company for once, may as well call me Bard, Bard the Bowman. Please come aboard." He beamed cheerily, dropping his hand and striding down the gangplank before disappearing into the bowels of his ship.

The Company looked shuffled their feet awkwardly for a few seconds before Thorin took the first tentative step on the gangplank. Dwarves were not known for either their sailing ability or their balance, so the narrow stretch of wood was daunting to say the least. All the dwarves made it safely, though Bombur made the plank creak dangerously. Bow followed at a slow pace, and found herself a spot next to a pile of coiled rope once the rest of the Company had sat down.

Bard returned soon after with a tray of tea and ships biscuits, and an old woollen jumper draped over his arm. Passing the tray to Oin, Bard tossed the jumper to Bow without a word before disappearing into the hold again.

Fighting not to wince as the musty wool stuck to the bloody welts on her back, she pulled the jumper over her head , struggling slightly with one arm: fumbled with the ruined rags of her old shirt and pulled it out the bottom of the jumper. Then using her teeth tore the shirt into a sling and rags which she stuffed in her pockets for later.

The jumper was so big it completely swamped Bow's frame, but with the cold breeze coming off the water and her fever sending cold and hot bolts through her bones, she was thankful for it. Bow leaned her head against the hard pile of rope, waiting for Bard to rise so she could thank him but before she knew what happened, she closed her eyes and drifted off into a deep and fevered sleep.  
****  
he dreamed of flames and smoke, of running and the cold rush of adrenaline through her veins, bile rose in the back of her throat and a scream danced on the edge of her tongue but air couldn't seem to escape her lungs: then a coarse hand shook her awake.

Bow's eyes slammed open and immediately grabbed the hand on her shoulder, biting back a wince as her broken hand was twisted awkwardly. But a growl died in her throat as Kili's hazel eyes looked at her with concern.

"We're coming into land, time to get up," Kili said gently, giving her a reassuring shake. Bow let go of his hand and nodded silently, wincing from the stiffness of her muscles. She struggled to pull herself up, though once on her feet she stumble as a wave of dizziness hit her, Kili just caught before she fell hard against the deck. He tensed and checked her pulse. "You have a fever, why didn't you tell us-" he accused harshly but Bow didn't allow him to finish. Angling her back to the Company, she tilted her towards Kili's ear, and kept her words hushed.

"Keep your voice down! I do not want to be more of a burden than I already am, besides it will pass. Just keep it to yourself, please!," Bow whispered harshly, quickly glancing over her shoulder to check no one was watching; the Company were too busy watching the approaching dock or being sick over the side of the boat.

"If you get any worse, you tell me," Kili demanded severely, his hazel eyes burned into hers with a stare that was reminiscent of Thorin's but was filled concern and pain, the dark dwarf gave her an understanding nod before striding off to stand with his brother. Bow watched him take Fili's elbow and whisper in his ear, Fili's eyes widened and met hers, then with silent acceptance inclined his head and turned away.

It was then that Bow turned her attention to the city before her. Laketown; shrouded in smog in the late afternoon sun and a biting chill in the air, Bow shivered from the cold chilling her fevered brow but inside she felt hollow, empty and numb.

Bard called to a man on the dockside and tossed him the mooring line. The ship heaved and fell in the water as it was pulled into birth, being secured in place by a two thick lengths of rope at either end of the vessel. Lowering the gangplank onto to the dockside, Bard indicated they should follow him.

It appeared that over their journey Thorin had let Bard into his confidence and asked the young Captain to take them directly to the Master's house. Bow was unfamiliar of the "Master of Laketown," as in her day the city was led by a council of elders. But she didn't dwell on this fact, she couldn't remember much of the journey at all. She remembered shadows passing her face, the smell of fish and leather, and the cramped heat of a back alley before the Company were ushered into a back door of a building. The Company were silent as they passed through the kitchens and pushed into a beautiful pallor. They sat on stuffed furniture and carved rocking chairs, their bedraggled appearance contrasting with the ornate decoration, soon after Thorin and Balin disappeared: food and drink was brought which helped to ease their anxiety, all save Bow, who sat apart from the rest drinking nothing more than a glass of milk while her stomach churned and tension burned hotter than her fever.

Bow looked up from a daze as Balin entered with a beaming smile. They followed him out into the hallway and met Thorin and Balin and a fat baldy man with rich furs and golden links around his neck, who Bow presumed was the Master of Laketown. His smile faltered as the dwarves entered but he extended his arms in welcome.

"Ah! These must be the great warriors of Erebor, I see you have chosen well Thorin son of Thrain," his voice was merry but he studied them individually, judging them, until his eyes met Bow and the blood ran from his face. "And who is this vision of loveliness?" His voice cracked slightly and faltered with unsurity; something flashed under his eyes but before Bow could grasp it, it was gone. She struggled to keep her face impassive and a snarl off her lips, but before she could say anything Dwalin moved to her side.

"This is my sister, Glandallin Hearteater, daughter of Fundin," Dwalin stated, his tone was stern and unquestioning; the Company didn't argue though some shot him questioning looks. Bow stood very still and plastered a very tight smile on her face. She knew when to argue and to talk back, but this was not one of those moments. The Master appeared to be taken aback but shook himself and mumbled something in greeting, before opening the front doors wide and marching out into the main square. Just as Dwalin was about to follow Oin out, Bow caught his elbow.

"What in Aüle's name was that?" she challenged in callous whisper. Dwalin looked down at her, his eyes the colour of sunshine through whiskey, and scanned her bruises and cuts, before meeting her eyes steadily.

"I don't trust the Master. There's something about him that doesn't sit right with me," he said frankly, his voice was husky and cautious. He glanced towards the doorway wanting to keep the Company in sight. Bow released his arm and shook off the annoyance that niggled at the back of her mind.

"There, now at least we have something that we can agree on."   
****

'- From out of the storm the wraith was born,

With eyes as black as the darkest night,

It killed and made all mothers mourn,

But no one knew of Laketown's plight,

O' death dealer of Laketown!

For the demon was cunning,

wearing the innocent skin of a child,

stealing souls and never aging,

it's venom spread and defiled,

O' death dealer of Laketown!

We few Laketown men,

With strong heart and guts,

Sort the demon to avenge our kinsmen,

and hunted down the Balrog slut,

O' death dealer of Laketown!

Hissing poison and blood, the Laketown men bathed her in fire,

Until the beast was bonded,

And her evil burned higher and higher,

O' death dealer of Laketown!-"

Bow listened to the minstrel's lyrical voice until she could listen no more. His words made her sick, not just because of the fever though that had subsided a little, but sick to the stomach at their cruelty and barbarism. Bow could almost see the Crone leering in front of her eyes and taste the smoke in the back of her throat, in the crowded tavern it was all too much. Making empty excuses to Ori ,who was sat on her left, she got up and made her way through the tavern dwellers to the stairs which went up to the dormitories. The bar was crowded and noisy, it appeared the entire city wanted to spy on the Dwarves of Erebor but also enjoy the hoppy beer and minstrel at the "Whore and Wedlock."

Although she kept low and darted between the throng of bodies, she couldn't avoid the hulking figure who collided with her, spilling ale down her jumper and on to the floor.

"Watch where you going dwarf!" the man growled, his shaved head wrinkling grotesquely: he smelt strongly of beer. Bow swallowed down her anger and tried to keep herself calm.

"Actually you bumped into me. Be more careful next time for I will not be so lenient," she tried to push past, but the man laid a gnarled hand on her shoulder, squeezing painfully hard.

"Is that right, we'll see out that?" The man took a step forward, his fist flashing down towards Bow's face. She merely side stepped suddenly and, thrown off balance, the man stumbled forward over her outstretched foot, to be met with a head butt that smashed his nose to a pulp. He dropped to the floor like a stone, and Bow stepped over his groaning body.

The tavern had fallen silent, the only noise was the crackling fire and the sound of beer dripping, all the patrons gawked and the Company watched with blanched faces, beer glasses halfway to their mouths.

"What! Haven't you ever seen angry She-Dwarf before?!" she demanded angrily before whirling as best she could, grabbing a nearby bottle of wine and retreating up the stairs to her room and slamming the door shut.

The room was small as Men's rooms go. Designed to house children it was perfectly comfortable for Bow. It wasn't as grand as Beorn's, but it had a single bed, a fireplace, a table and a wash basin and a window with a seat.

Bow sat on the window seat and held her head in her hands for a few minutes, before unstopping the cork with her teeth. She took a large gulp of wine, and pressed the cool glass against her brow. It was sour with an after taste, but Bow was beyond caring at this point. She wouldn't admit it out loud but she had half a mind to disappear into the night and not look back, contract or no contract. Bilbo would go home to the Shire and Thorin had no real hold over her anyway: she would do as she damn well pleased.

With that decided, there came a sudden knock at the door, without for a response, Thorin entered and closed the door behind him, then leaned back against the wood and crossed his arms over his broad chest. Bow couldn't be bothered to get tense at his closeness; if worse came to worst she could always bottle him.

"Was that really necessary?" Thorin rumbled mildly, amusement just hiding under his stern words.

"At lot of things are unnecessary but they have to be done," Bow stated matter-of-factly without bothering to look up at him.

"We could have really done without that-" he began but Bow's head snapped up and she glared at him coldly.

"We could have done without a lot of things but... well, he was just asking for it and besides he started it," she retorted but then she seemed to ran out of steam and she sagged down again to stare at the floor. There was a pause as if Thorin was choosing his words carefully.

"Why did you walk out? The night is still young and you have not yet eaten," His tone was surprisingly tender, filled with concern, Bow could almost feel his gem like eyes watching her: they made her uncomfortable.

"I did not like the minstrel, he was giving me a headache," she said dismissively and waved her good hand in an absent manner.

"I thought he sang well," Thorin added lightly, but whatever thin piece of self control Bow had around her anger she lost it, in an instant. Leaping to her feet, ignoring the pain, she wheeled to Thorin and unleashed a torrent of anger that had been steadily been building since they entered Laketown.

"The Minstrel, do not talk to me about the minstrel! He sang of ignorance and stupidity: naive and blind people overpowering a child! Thorin a mere child!" She spat the words with all the venom she had, planting her feet before him, her eyes stabbed at him.

He stood for a moment before his arms fell to his side and tilting his head to one side, watching her with an impassive curiosity. "What are you saying?" He probed gently, keeping the safe distance between the two of them. Bow let out a snarl of frustration, and whirled away to pace the floor. Her mind was whirling with thoughts and feelings that had long since been dormant. Swallowing bile that rose in the back of her throat, she sat on the foot of the bed and pulled up her sleeves.

"Do I look like I have demon eyes to you?" Bow asked coldly, drawing her face up into a sneering smile. Thorin took a step forward and studied the grotesque mess of damaged skin on each forearm, bleached white with scar tissue, the lasting wound contrasted the pink tinge of Bow's skin.

"You were the child..." Thorin said without looking away from her arms, Bow couldn't see his face but she could hear the revulsion in his words, she pulled her sleeves down self consciously.

"No, not the child, the death dealer: the night wraith sent by the devil," she spat with venom, staring off into the dancing flames of the fire. It was then that Thorin took a step back, stroking his beard thoughtfully with his hand, he was silent for a long time.

"What of your Kin? Were there no other dwarves to vouch for you?" He questioned intently, keeping his back to Bow so she could not see his face.

"No, I had none. The story was told a lot of how I wandered into the city, covered with mud and blood, lighting and rain crashing down from the heavens and smoke blotting out the sun: I brought the bad omens. I learned many years later that I appeared a human child and I was taken in, but all other dwarfs were shunned lest they drained the winter supplies." Bow's voice was mechanical and void of emotion, she recited the story just how she had been told it by Helga .

"You wandered alone, with no possessions... nothing that could indicate identity?" Thorin asked in a clipped tone, dragging his hand through his taffled locks.

"All I had was the dress on my back and that were so muddy it was burned," she chuckled without humour, exhaustion and fever making the edges of her vision swirl and dance.

"And the terms of your contract, you think your family were from Erebor," he stated simply. The question he had been wanting to ask since BagEnd seemed so simple now.

"It seems logical but then again, fate was never in my favour." Bow added dryly. She heard Thorin turn and she glanced up from the fire, which she had been staring at for several minutes, to find the Prince's blank and his skin whiter than the freshest snow.

"Thorin are you ill?" Bow asked with severely. She was not one to worry but Thorin's rosy complexion had dissolved into nothing, his body slack and all dominance disappeared as his strength appeared to fade inwards. But just as she was about to slap some sense into his, his eyes snapped upwards and shined with feverish brilliance.

"Where did you hear it?!" he asked violently, taking her shoulders in his massive hands and shaking her.

"Heard what?" Bow snapped pulling herself out of his grasp.

"That song, the one at Beorn's!" he retorted matter-of-factly as if she was the one being absurd.

"No idea-" she shrugged with bravado " I probably heard it somewhere a long time ago and It got stuck in my head," Bow added nonchantly, trying not be phased by Thorin's odd behaviour. Thorin started to pace the room, dragging his hands threw his hair, his face the colour of ash. She made to sit down to save her painful but he turned to her.

"Stand!" he demanded, pointing to a spot on the floor in front of him. She didn't argue like she normally would have, she walked silently, eyeing him with suspicion and silently wishing she had at least one knife: though she still carried the wine bottle.

"You want me to dance next?" Bow remarked, trying to break the tension.

"Shut up! I'm thinking-" he growled almost one word.

"Don't strain yourself," she retorted but none the less stood still, shuffling her feet to keep the pain at bay, all the time Thorin circled her like a predator honing in on its prey, his icy eyes darting over her frame and features, profile and structure. After some ten minutes of constant circling, Bow finally lost her patience. "Not to me impertinent, but have you gone mad?" she asked irately, the throbbing pain of her hand, back and feet making her snappy.

Thorin recoiled as if Bow had kicked him in the chest. His eyes widened with horror and Bow saw every muscle in his neck contract. His hands clenched into iron fists and three strangled words escaped his mouth: "It cannot be."

Unease flared in Bow, for she had never seen Thorin out of control of his emotions. She took and step forward and tried to shake his shoulders but he recoiled from her and pressed his hands over his eyes, his body vibrated with unstable energy and Bow could hear his panted breathe being ripped out his chest. "Thorin look at me. Are you ill? Pull yourself together you idiot or I'll send for Oin!"she snapped hoping that it would pull him back to himself.

It worked; Thorin straightened and pulled his hands tightly to his side, holding his spine so tight that Bow thought it would snap like a shade of glass. His face was impassive, but the muscles jumped in jaw and his eyes danced with feverish intensity. He snatched the bottle of wine from her hands then retreated back to the wall. Holding himself up with one arm, Thorin took a long gulp of wine, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took another gulp. Bow watched silently as he closed his eyes and appeared to steady himself, letting his hand fall limply to his side, he turned and regarded her.

"I apologise if I worried you, but no, I am not ill. Just send Dwalin to my room at once, I must confer with him." His face was like a thawing glacier, stern indifference fell away to reveal, well...warmth. It was the first time that Bow had ever seen his smile reach his eyes, adding a twinkle to his irises as he tilted his head and regarded her with fondness.

Bow was dumbstruck, for a moment she thought her fever had got the better of her and it was a hallucination, but the sound of his heavy footsteps jogged her into reality. Grabbing his collar and ignoring the stabbing pain of her hand, Bow slammed Thorin into the wall, pinning the Prince in place. "You are not just going to leave! Explain what in Durin's name that was?!" she demanded brutally. He didn't even glare, in fact his lips curled into an even more blissful smile, which Bow found even more infuriating.

"You have waited a life time for answers, but please be patient, I will choose to tell you in time." His words were barely a whisper and his tone soft like cotton sheets and he brushed a lock of dark hair from her face. Bow shoved him hard against the wall and recoiled from him.

"You're insane," she breathed accusingly, not letting her eyes leave the dazed dwarf. He must be mad:- Bow didn't want to believe it but it was as if the warrior had been replaced with grosser or a poet.

"I wish it were that simple," Thorin chuckled, straightened his jerkin and opened the door, and with one last look of longing, closed it behind him, leaving Bow overwhelming and confused.

So much so, that she retrieved to wine bottle from the floor where it had fallen, drained it, locked the door and sat on the edge of bed. Bow gazed out the window, staring blankly until her mind gained focus, and she realised what she was staring at.

The Lonely Mountain looked at her and she at it. Not long now.

Still fully clothed and the bottle of wine under her arm, Bow crawled under the covers and slept until late into the afternoon.


	20. Homecoming

Bow groaned and pressed her face into the soft pillows as the knocking at the door grew steadily louder. Swearing loudly she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled blindly to the door.

"S'hatso important that you woke me," she mumbled, pulling the door open and rubbing sleep out of her eyes. The chamber maid looked alarmed. Even though she was probably only in her teens, she towered above Bow and shuffled her feet.

"If you please, Ma'am, the wee baby dwarf with the curls said you'd be wanting something to eat," the young maid explained, keeping her eyes respectfully on the floor. Bow smiled at the description of Bilbo and shook herself awake some more.

"Yes, but only something light. And is there any chance of some hot water and bandages?" Bow shifted on her feet as to not put too much pressure on both foot.

"I were going to send for a healer but my Father said it was none of my concern," the maid said anxiously, her eyes widening as she scanned Bow's injuries.

"No just hot water and bandages and maybe some ointment or salve," Bow smiled as the Maid nodded and curtsied and scurried away. Bow had only just limped back to bed by the time the maid arrived again, her arms loaded with a tray, a satchel slung over her shoulder and a bucket of hot water hooked onto her elbow. She set the tray down on the nightstand and emptied the bucket in the wash basin, before kneeling down to stoke the fire.

"Where are the rest of the Company?"Bow asked nonchantly, half wanting to fill the awkward silence and half wanting to corner Thorin about his manic outburst: curiosity burned under her skin like an itch Bow couldn't scratch.

"Many are not yet up, they were drinkinin' into the early hours. The wee baby dwarf is sewing in front of the fire in the main common room. His Majesty is in conference with the grey dwarf and the Master I believe and-" she let out a loud giggle which echoed up the chimney and blushing scarlet under her bonnet "- and the two young princes are in the wash house-" she paused to giggle again and stood up making for the door, "You are lucky to be travelling with such handsome companions. I would not kick the blonde one out of bed for keeping his socks on, that's for sure." The maid tried to cool her blushing cheeks and then turned to open the door.

"Hold up, I didn't get your name?" Bow called from the bed, masking a loud growl that her stomach made.

"Sagan Ma'am, daughter of Lanke and Kigol," Sagan stated helpfully and curtsying.

"You've been very helpfully Sagan, but a word to the wise. I'd stay clear of the blonde dwarf if I was you, he has a terrible temper. I mean, look what he did to me when I spilt his ale," Bow said sombrely, fighting to keep her face pained as she indicated to her injuries. Sagan turned white as a ghost and fled, almost slamming the door behind her.

She'd done the right thing, Fili could deal with the small tarnish on his reputation. Besides it was better than having a lusty maid turn up in his bed and having to explain why he turned her away. No, let her think him a brute. If kept her at a safe distance and allowed the brothers their privacy.  
***  
nd so the days followed. She slept, ate, bathed, ate again, checked her wounds and had a brief conversation with one of the Company before going to bed and doing exactly the same the next day. Sleeping had been hard after the exhaustion of Mirkwood had worn off but Sagan had given her sleeping tonics that knocked her out, though she never forgot to barricade the door.

On the seventh day in the early afternoon Bow was sat on the floor at the foot of the bed checking the bandages on her feet, when there was an abrupt knock on the door.

"Enter," she called thinking it was Sagan with fresh bed sheets. Bow looked up as the door opened but no one entered, Dwalin's frame filled the door way, his mouth opened and no words came out. "Speak or close your mouth before something crawls in," she said in amusement, arching her eyebrow. Dwalin closed his mouth and looked away, appearing to swallow and shuffle his feet.

"If you are strong enough to travel, we leave at dawn," he said tartly, his hands clenched into fists. Bow pulled herself to her feet and took a step forward, they didn't hurt as much now but the skin still felt tight. It was her broken hand which was still in a sling that worried her most.

"Well I couldn't let Smuag have all the fun," Bow retorted with a snide grin and resting her hand on her hip. Dwalin's throat made a strangled noise, before he recoiled from the doorframe and disappeared down the corridor.

Bow shook her head and dragged a hand through her taffled hair. Whatever Thorin has must be contagious, she thought dryly as she closed the door.  
***  
No matter how far they seemed to travel, of how many leagues they seemed to pass, Erebor didn't get any closer. It was like a mirage of water in the desert, teasing that an oasis was just over the horizon. Bow shifted in her saddle and rolled her shoulders.

It was midday on the third day after they'd left Laketown. Twisting back she saw the smoke rising and the murky fog surrounding the city, and she smirked. All these years she'd feared that place, all the times she'd watched the skyline from afar and never dared enter, it was almost as if her fears had been hallow: almost.

"Stop twitching , you'll spook your horse," Fili commented sharply as he and Kili rode past. With annoyance Bow realised that her horse had stopped without her noticing, digging in her heels, she spurred the animal on. "Yes?" the two brothers said at the same time as she came to ride by their side.

"What Thorin said on the edge of the river about two men, I don't think he meant it," she stated suddenly, the words jumped out of her mouth before she knew what was happening. The Durin's gaped at her, Bow floundered for a second and then swallowed and pressed on. "Have you ever been to south Waith?" Fili shook his head and Kili looked off into the distance. "They have the belief that all souls are split into two and we spend our lives searching for the other half. Now who's to say you to aren't each other's half," Bow shook her head and shrugged, not meeting the brother's eyes.

"And you don't think it's immoral or disgusting?" she heard Kili ask tentatively under his breath. Bow twisted in her saddle and looked at them, Kili searched her face for answers, while Fili studied his hands with a blush rising on his cheeks.

"Isn't killing immoral? Then tell me what we've all been doing these past years, besides rules are meant to be broken," Bow smirked matter-of-factly and nodded with sureity at the two brothers. Kili looked to Fili and a silent conversation passed between them, pulling up their horses the group slowed and fell behind so they could talk me freely.

"Thorin would never accept it. He'll arrange marriages for us and we can't dishonour a She-dwarf like that- to marry and not be desired by ones spouse is..." Fili's troubled words trailed off and he tugged at his beard.

"Thorin has been acting ... odd and very erratic. You never know he may surprise you," Bow said mildly, glancing at Thorin and Dwalin at the head of the column of dwarves. Kili and Fili stared at each other, until Kili spurred his horse to her side so she was between the two.

"You think we should tell him?" Kili leaned close to her side and said urgently under his breath. Bow recoiled and kicked her horse forward and halting it in front of them.

"Would it be better that letting him live under a lie, disillusioned by his own nephews? But then again I'm leaving as soon as this nonsense is over with so it makes no difference to me either way," Bow snapped irately, losing patience with the brothers silly behaviour, and cantered away: the more they dabbled behind Thorin's back, the worse it would be if they were discovered, lord knows how many times she's covered for them.

"She doesn't know him like we do, he'll never accept," Kili said darkly, watching their Guide as she rode next up next to the burglar. The brothers had all but stopped, Fili angled his horse so that the animals heads were touching and he took his brothers hands: gripping the fingers almost too tight.

"I know, but at least I've tried and if all else fails, I'll abdicate. I'll abdicate for us. Thorin could still marry and have his own Dwarrows, there's nothing stopping him." Fili's voice caught in his throat as he looked into his brothers eyes. Even to him, it sounded a weak plan.

***  
ow was so close, getting closer with each slow painstaking step.

Wind whipped around her body as she clung to a ridge of the giant dwarf statue. The two formidable effigies at the front of the mountain that silently guarded the gates even though their mountain had already been breached, were the Company's quickest way up onto the left slopes of the mountain and hopefully the secret door.

They were just scaling the top of the dwarf's axe when a particularly cruel burst of wind whiplashed them, making the Company hunker down against the rock. Bow grimaced as again she had to use her broken hand to cling on, lest she be ripped off and hurtled to her death.

"How high do you think we are?" Ori, who was climbing next to her, asked shrilly, having to shout above the roar of the wind.

"Thousand feet, probably more," Nori shouted from the other side of Ori, trying to reassure his little brother.

"The height is immaterial, a drop of a hundred feet would see a man dead. All it means is your in the air longer," Bow shouted at the young dwarf trying to reassure him and winced again as the bones in her broken hand clicked painfully. Ori froze immediately and began shaking like a leaf, clinging with his frayed mittens to the cliff face. Bow rolled her eyes at her own stupidity and tugged Ori's face round with the tassels on his beard. "You've walked halfway across Middle Earth to get here. Now you walk or I'll hurl you over the edge. Am I understood?"

Ori's eyes went wide as teacups and he began shuffling as fast as his feet would let him.  
***  
She was actually touching the mountain. She could taste the thin air with its hints of ash from the Desolation . She was so close and yet so far: it was maddening. They had searched for days. Moving from cliff to cliff, ledge to ledge, searching for the invisible door. With Bombur left at the bottom of the mountain, their food had been poor which only added to their poor spirits. Bow was almost lost in despair, Thorin searched alone in brooding silence ignoring her, the rest of the Company despondent and bitter. All hope was gone

Or so it seemed, if it hadn't of been for the miraculous Bilbo Baggin's and his interest in bird watching.

"Are all Hobbits this wonderful or is it just the Baggins family? Balin, I think Bilbo deserves as raise" Bow beamed at Bilbo, who blushed and looked down at his shuffling feet.

"Aye' you did good lad but if he does, its coming out of your share Bow," Balin chuckled and thumped Bilbo on the back. Early morning on Durin's day, the sun rising over the distant Misty Mountains and in a stroke of pure genius Bilbo had discovered the secret door into the mountain.

"It's a pity I'm not getting paid or you could have had a bigger share," Bow commented mildly, wincing internally as she shoulder another bag.

"What do you mean "not getting paid"?" Bofur gasped loudly, Bow turned to find ten pairs of eyes watching her with a mix of scandal and bemused amazement.

"Bow refused to take a share in the gold," Thorin stated tightly, shouldering another pack and ignoring their stares. Bow shrugged and made to follow after him, but Oin caught her elbow.

"Why did you come then, if not for the gold and the glory? You don't seem the type to hunt for fame," Oin remarked softly, his old eyes watching her carefully. Bow sighed with exasperation, knowing that if she ignored him the Company would never drop the subject.

"Master Oin, have you ever seen a snake eating a mouse?" Bow stated irately, dropping the heavy bag from her shoulder. Confused, Oin shook his head and adjusted his ear horn.

"It is disgusting. But I once saw a mouse kill and snake."She paused as she heard gasps of disbelief, before drawing to her full height and looking down at the Desolation. "I believe evil creates its own end, its own fate. You heard the portense Master Oin, the ravens are returning to their home; much like fate told you it was time to move, so it told me, though I do believe it was more violent in persuading me." Bow shook her head clearing out philosophic talk, and rubbed the back of her neck, thinking back to how Thorin jabbed into her neck tendons. The Company laughed good heartedly, slowing moving off towards the secret door, when Balin called out.

"Does that make you the snake or the mouse?" The grey dwarf joked in good humour.

"Mouse!" Bofur and the Ri brother's laughed.

"Snake!" Kili and Fili hissed loudly. After their desperate wait and Bilbo's the discovery of the secret door it was a party atmosphere, with almost all the Company laughing and joking so much so that they didn't notice Dwalin's steely look and Thorin's warming grin as they watched Bow walk off with the others.

"Neither, for she is the raven," Thorin breathed under his husky growl, so that only Dwalin could hear. The old friends met each others' eye: whiskey gold to glacial blue. Dwalin nodded with understanding at the silent communication Thorin's stare sent him.

Tonight,- it said. And that was all Dwalin needed to know.  
***  
ow steeled herself and let her nails bite into the palm of her hand as she gazed down the dark narrow corridor, which delved deep into the rock. Cold sweat covered her body, sending chills over her skin even when a gust of hot air hit her square in the chest.

Erebor.

Was it welcoming her or pushing her away? She brushed her fingers over the rough stone that glowed slightly in the morning light. Claustrophobia was a small fear in the back of her head compared to what occupied it now. Bow was on the edge of a cliff of uncertainty, would she find answers or more questions, what if she found nothing? What then? So long had Erebor been her goal that she hadn't thought about what if she wasn't born here, or her heritage wasn't founded here. Where then?

With a shake of her head Bow tried to back away from the gaping mouth of stone that was going to swallow her whole when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Twisting her neck she saw Bofur's beady eyes twinkle in the dawning sun.

"Don't worry lass, not matter what happens you'll always have a place amongst the Company," he said cheerily, his face cracking into a wide grin that made his eyes crinkle. For a brief second Bow wondered whether Bofur could read minds, but taking a deep breath, she shrugged off Bofur's hand and followed Thorin, Balin and Dwalin into the belly of the mountain.  
***  
The cavern was large, cold and musty. The remains of rotten hay gave the air a sour taste, thick layers of dust covered the deep shelves that had been carved into one of the highest rock face making deep shadows thrown by the fire look like dancing ghosts. "The Rook," as Thorin had called it, made her feel hollow and empty of life.

Ghosts. Ghosts must be everywhere in this place, ancestor long dead in tombs deep in the earth, those who died defending it from the dragon, those who were left behind to wander the wilderness alone: all ghosts now.

Bow held her knees to her chest and idly rubbed the splint on her hand, wishing she had a knife by her side for comfort, but no; she sat and watched from a far as the Company helped Bilbo secure his rope and travelling gear. Finally tightening his belt, the Hobbit turned to the Company. His spine was tight and his chest strong, but Bow could make out the slight tremble of his dirty curls.

"Well, I'll be off then, off to spy on a dragon," his chuckle died in his throat, he bit his lip and looked down at his hairy feet. He looked up and tried to meet their eyes, but he shook his head and hid his face in his hands, as if strengthening himself for the goodbye.

"Don't worry lad, a miraculous Hobbit like you won't have any trouble," Balin said kindly, gently laying his hand on Bilbo's shoulder. With Balin's words the rest of the Company came forward and reassured the Hobbit, Bifur muttered some kind of blessing in Khuzdul and Oin patted him on the head roughly. Dwalin nudged him on the shoulder with his armoured fist before advising him to keep to the shadows.

Even Thorin managed to say something along the lines of "come back with all your limbs." And then Bilbo looked at Bow, she stood awkwardly as he took a step towards her, his eyes shining with earnest and sincerity just like they had done all them weeks ago in the Shire.

"I'm not saying goodbye. There's no point 'cause' you'll be back in an hour or two and I'll be waiting, so don't be late," Bow said matter-of-factly, dragging her fingers through her hair and looking away from the Hobbit. His laughed was pained and his smile didn't meet his eyes, he was pale under his strawberry blonde locks. Bow fumbled with the right words to say. "Just be the hero I know you are," she declared proudly, fixing Bilbo with her strong gaze.

"I don't feel like much of a hero," Bilbo confessed, looking away from her. That was when Bow did something surprising, she took the Hobbit's chin with her good hand and tilted his head up to hers.

"You don't feel like a hero Bilbo Baggins, you live like one. Now, off with you, can't keep the old Scaly arse waiting." Bow's tone turned from solemn to mocking in a matter of seconds. Gently shoving Bilbo's head away, she turned to face the stone rock face again, stunned at her own actions.

"Come lad, I'll show you the way," Bow heard Balin say over her shoulder and their foot falls disappeared into the mountain. Wrapping her arms tight around her body, Bow began to pace and whispered under her breathe, "And now, we wait."

***  
"- and his fangs were taller than a horse and his scales were the size of dinner plates and he spoke...'e' actually spoke, like he knew the what was going on in my head and he spoke, slow and rumbling, e kind of sounded like Balin when 'e' lecturing but he spoke, and e's kind of created a nest for himself, like he's got a wall of skeletons covered in amour to rest his tail on and rubies as a pillow and –"

"Did you see the Arkenstone?" Thorin asked harshly, interrupting to stunned silence of the Company while Bilbo babbled.

"I'm sorry! I was kind of busy looking AT THE BLOODY GREAT DRAGON WHO WANTED TO ROAST ME THEN EAT ME!- Arkenstone indeed, Smaug's got thousands of jewels down there, 'e' using them to shine his claws for Pete sake!" Bilbo paced up and down up and down the cave floor; sometimes he sat then stood up again. He shivered with cold sweat that covered his body and trembled as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

Bow would have calmed him but she was so relieved that he had come back in one piece that she was happy to listen to him rant and rave, although she did worry about Smuag over hearing. Bow pushed off from the cave wall and began to walk towards where Bilbo paced when something hit her, and hard.

Silently Bilbo's eyes went wide and he stepped toward her, arms outstretched and then she saw nothing.

It was like being tossed in the air and shaken to pieces by some faceless beast; air was punched out of her lungs and her mind was crammed into the space between realities. Sight was always unpleasant but this was so much worse. Three flashes of time, of what if's, of blood and fire and pain that could be. Three possibilities that all hinged on her, three consequences to her actions. Like being branded with the white hot poker in Mirkwood, these three images were seared into her mind, never to be forgotten.

The floor tilted dangerously and her lids were heavy but she managed to open her eyes. A dozen pairs of faces jostled each other so that they could look down at her, she could see Bilbo's curly head bobbing up and down to get a better look, she felt strong arms around her and saw Bofur fanning her face with his hat.

"'etoff me," she said thickly, trying to shake the dizziness from her head.

"You collapsed," Balin stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, you just went rigid as a corpse," Dwalin elaborated with unease, shifting from one foot to the other. Bow tried to get up but strong arms around her waist stopped her.

"Go steady, I've got you," Thorin said softly into her ear. Bow was laid in his arms, as she'd fallen Thorin had thrown his body forward and caught her just before she hit the floor. Bow fought not to flinch and recoil from his touch. Grabbing his sleeves, she pulled his arms away and pushed herself to her feet. Wobbling slightly, she turned back to Thorin and extended her good arm as way of thank you.

"Come on old man," she said stiffly, pulling him to Thorin feet as his knees popped. Then she spun and fixed her intense glare on Bilbo's worried eyes, as her vision flashed to the front of her mind. "Tell me more about Smuag?"

***  
Gloin's snores echoed around the Rook, but Bow sat awake too energised to sleep. She waited until all the Dwarves had turned in for the night and were sleeping deeply, then stuffed her coat under the blankets to look like a body and carefully picked her way through the dwarves towards the Hobbit. Standing over him, Bow shook his shoulder gently.

"Hamfast don't mow the lawn now," Bilbo mumbled sleepily, smiling a little at his dream. Bow rolled her eyes and clasped her hand over Bilbo's mouth. He woke violently, his eyes shot open and his hands fumbled around hers. Bow smiled reassuringly, putting her finger to her lips, indicated that Bilbo get up.

Bilbo pulled on his coat, muttering about the rudeness of dwarves whilst rubbing his eyes; he led Bow down a dark narrow corridor and through a secret door which led to a narrow flight of stairs. Bow waited till the door was fully shut to grab Bilbo's elbow and commanded determinedly: "take me to Smuag."  
***  
Bilbo had disappeared a long time ago, his pale terrified face and trembling body evaporating into thin air. But still she could sense him as she scaled the mountains of gold and silver, pools of jewels and hordes of precious objects. Now she could see why the Dwarves wanted the mountain back so badly, Bow would have gladly spent all day gazing at the beautiful objects but time was not on her side.

Scrabbling on her belly under a low carved amethyst archway, Bow entered the main treasure chamber and was completely overwhelmed but the sheer size and scale of it, but that is not what took her breath away. As the noise of shattered coins echoed around the hall, the very air began to rumble and vibrate as a deep malevolent voice boomed and rumbled, shaking Bow to the core.

"Who is this Dwarf who dares steal my slummmmmber? I see you make a habit little Thief of sending your friends to their dooooom," Smuag rumbled like thunder, drawing out each syllable until Bow thought her ears would burst. All her organs protested as Bow pushed herself out of the protection of an amethyst pillar and marched towards Smuag. She bit the inside of her cheek and her sweaty palms clung desperately to the bronze cup in her hand, reaching the top of pile of treasure chests that Smuag used to rest his snout, Bow looked up and came face to face with the scarlet dragon.

Yellow eyes the size of cartwheels narrowed and contracted on her tiny form, and a muzzle taller than a house levelled with Bow's face so that she could gape into the bottomless void of the dragon's black gullet. Bow smelt rotten meat as a gust of humid air nearly knocked her backwards. she stumbled but didn't retreat. Raising her head proudly, she waited for the fatal blow to fall.

"I am sent maidens to placate my hunger and to offer appeasement to the gods but I see you are neitheeerrrr." Smuag rumbled, his black forked tongue darting out to taste her fear. "But my eyes also see you are no ordinary dwarf, O bold one who walks blatantly into the path of firrrrrreee." Smuag sent a tremor through the mountain of treasure as he shifted his body and rose to his full height, looking down his long snout, he titled his head and watched her curiously. "You are a dwarf but not just a dwarf; you have a muchness about yoooouuu. An interesting aura around you and I see your mind knowsss this- Bow, daughter of the abad melhekhûn." Smaug's voice descended into an odd gurgle that could have been a laugh but Bow wasn't sure.

She licked her lips and trying to form coherent words as she edged closer and closer to panic. She glanced back at the empty air where she thought Bilbo was standing and then stared down at the cup in her hand. She could almost feel the threads of fate falling through her fingers as she suddenly found her voice.

"I am returning this in good faith-"she lifted the cup into the air so the Smuag could see its dull bronze glint. "It symbolises the respect I show you and the treasure you guard. I do not wish to steal your home. That is not honourable." Her voice sounded stronger than she felt, as Smuag rose a boat sized paw, she leant forward and dropped the cup into the dragon's waiting palm.

Smuag let out one long breath, savouring the feel of the tiny cup in his claw and spoke slowly, watched her through half lidded eyes. "I will hear you speakkkk," he rumbled impassively.

"You are right, great dragon, I am different. I see things that others don't, things that haven't come to pass or what have passed or what is in someone's mind. The Thief told me that you can see into someone's mind, is this true?" Bow called up to Smuag, controlling the tremble in her voice.

"You are in no position to make demands of me Bow Travellerrrrr!" Smuag growled in indignation, showing the tips of his ivory teeth.

"You use that name though many have not used it in years. I see you do have some Sight, I ask that before you eat me, as I don't doubt you will, look into my mind and see what will come to pass if we do not alter destiny," Bow said finally, closing her eyes and preparing for jaws and teeth. But instead her mind began to quiver and shuffle as if it were being jabbed at. Her three visions rose to the front of her mind and blurred across her eyes.

\- From out of a cloud of smoke and fury, massive wings extended and rose into the sky, roaring flames and lava. Smuag would descend on Laketown and burn and kill, lavishing in destruction until a thrush lands of a young Captain's shoulder and whispers where Smaug's weakness is. Bard the Bowmen, bastard son of a river man, would draw back his bow and let the fateful arrow fly. Smaug's body would fester in Laketown's waters with fish and birds eating his flesh.

\- The silhouette of the Dwarf prince blazed in fire as Smaug's jaws crash down upon him. Darkness follows the years and soon Smaug's heart is lost to darkness and his body used like a puppet jerking on a string by the forces in the east.

\- An old beast circles over a mountain, concluding that it will make a fine nest. The familiar strain on his heart reminds him of the Winter Sleep that calls him to the hordes of his ancestors. Through his wisdom and strength his horde grows with gold and life, the hunted return and become his horde, his people as much as his gold or his mountain. He is worshipped and when he succumbs to Winter Sleep, he is buried at the heart of the mountain and his horde for all time.

Bow fell to her knees and tried to hold on to consciousness as the force of Sight hit her again. Her arms trembled and her forehead throbbed but, swallowing bile that rose in her throat, Bow managed to stand and face the dragon again.

"And these will come to pass?" Smuag rumbled, lowering his head in line with her. Bow swallowed again and held her damaged hand protectively.

"They are all possible, but I see death and destruction in two and only a peaceful ending for all concerned in one. That is why, and I speak for the Company, when I say we want peace." Bow could barely hear over the blood rushing through her ears.

"Then speak, O bold one," Smuag said with amusement, his snout curling into something close to a smile.  
***  
Nervous energy made the journey back to the Rook slow. After traversing the steep piles of gold that had somehow lost its lustre, Bow tried to climb the stairs but found her legs weak like jelly. She breathed a thank you to Bilbo as invisible hands took hold of her jerkin and helped hold her up while she fumbled up the steps.

After what seemed like no time at all, Bow found herself outside the secret door; Bilbo appeared at her side and silently began probing the edge for the latch.

"Did I do the right thing?" Bow asked tiredly, catching Bilbo's elbow and watching as his eyes shined out of the darkness, Bilbo hesitated before answering.

"I think you did, but I doubt Thorin will as it so," Bilbo said carefully as the door swung open and he helped her inside. With both her hands pressed on both sides of the narrow corridor to keep her up, Bow shuffled in the Rook, only to stop suddenly and have Bilbo collide into her back.

Thorin stood waiting, tall and proud and unyielding. His back to them was held tight and his aura burned with energy. He turned towards her, his bright eyes flashing and he closed the distance between them.

"I'll talk with you now," Thorin breathed, his tone void of emotion but his eyes dancing with feverish brightness. Bow didn't feel like she could argue, his dominating presence cut through her exhaustion like a knife and his intensity gave her a second wind. From the corner of her eye she saw Bilbo disappear into the belly of the cave, as she turned and followed Thorin. He moved with purpose, running his hands over the carved ledges until he came to pillar of worn rock that stuck out of the ground, Thorin blew away some of the dust to reveal it's golden runes. With a nostalgic smile, he ducked behind the pillar and disappeared. Bow shuffled her feet for a moment before following him into a tight passageway that led into a dark hallway. The floor was covered in feathers and a few strands of hay, but her eyes travelled through the door at the end of the hall way, to room beyond.

Shattered glass from the large window and door covered the wooden floor and abandoned furniture, damp moth bitten cloaks were hung limply on hooks by the doorway and decade's worth of ivy had grown through the empty window and was making its way up the chimney breast. Bow shivered and wrapped her arms around her; the hall had a still sacredness about it that made Bow feel like she was trespassing.

Moving through what would have been a kitchen; Bow brushed her fingers over the bronze handle of the door that led out onto a patch of thorn bushes and nettles, at the far end she could just make out a dead tree. She turned as she heard the shuffle of feet and saw Thorin stood over an unmade bed; its sheets were rotted and covered with leaves and mushrooms, his face was unreadable.

"What is this place?" Bow whispered, trying to protect the stillness of the room.

"This is where your mother used to live," Thorin said softly, still staring emptily down at the bed. Bow was floored by his words; she felt like she'd been kicked in the chest and clung on the door handle for support.

"You knew my mother..." the words forced themselves painfully up her throat and crept between her lips before she could stop herself. Thorin dragged his hand threw his hair and walked toward the empty window, looking out at the brambles and the Desolation underneath.

"I should have seen it, I should have sensed it! But I stopped searching a long time ago," Thorin muttered to himself bitterly. Bow felt her limbs move; she almost stumbled towards Thorin pausing before two steps that divided the room.

"So you did know her then?"Bow probed as she fought to keep her control, she felt like she was gripped the end of a rope and any minute it would be pulled out her grasp. Thorin turned to her and met her eyes; Bow recoiled a little from the searing agony that they showed. Silently he turned away and resting both hands on the bed frame, began to speak.

"Under my grandfathers reign Erebor prospered and grew wealthier than all the other dwarf kingdoms, and like my father I was groomed to one day be King Under The Mountain. But the more I learnt and the more I watched, the more I grew disillusioned. It was your mother who saved me-"

"What was her name?" Bow interrupted, her eyes not leaving Thorin's troubled face.

"Lifthrasir, daughter of Mimir, though she always preferred Lif," the words caused agonising pain that spread from Thorin's heart to the tips of his fingers but he continued to speak. "She was different I suppose, fought for everything she ever had and asked for nothing. My status meant nothing to her and she told me often enough. And I loved her more with every passing day-" Bow's mouth fell open and she stopped breathing –"Fierce in battle, hardest worker I ever knew,-" Thorin stopped and smiled at a distant memory-" she used to get up at dawn and come home when her hands were too sore to work. When I told her off she'd just put her hands on her hips and tell me she liked to work." Thorin stopped and swallowed, then stood up to face Bow. "It was a peaceful time, a new treaty had been signed the Iron hills, so Thror allowed us to marry as long as my father didn't find out. She cared for the Raven's of Erebor as Priestess of Muninn and we were...happy. You were born on Durin's day, I held you in my arms and you touched my cheek,"- Thorin swallowed the lump in his throat and took a long steadying breath. "But like you said "fate is not kind." Smuag struck before I had chance to reach you and her, Dwalin got you out two out of the secret door but then on the edge of Mirkwood your screams attracted..." Thorin could speak no more. Thorin seemed to collapse inward and crumple; he held himself up by the bed frame and covered his eyes with his hand, only looking up when Bow backed away into a chair.

He stood then and smiled, light coming back to his face, he took a step towards her and cupped her cheek with his hand. "I've mourned you so long that I couldn't see. My Branwen, you have your mothers..." he began softly but was silenced as Bow's eyes met his and he quickly withdrew his hand.

"How dare you tease me! How dare you make my pain into a joke!" Years of pain, years of wandering alone vulnerable at the hands of evil, years of wandering about her family, and to have the briefest glimpse of hope dangled in front of her eyes only to have it dragged away at the last possible second, wrenched her pain and anger from their cages and unleashed them at Thorin. Bow whirled away from him, disgusted and repulsed, dashing the chairs and table to the ground made for the door.

"This is no joke! You are my daughter, my flesh and blood," he called after her, pain and frustration evident in his voice. Bow stopped and dug her nails into the wooden frame of the door; she turned and glared, her chest panting. Thorin was grey and his knuckles clenched white.

"What is this? What is it really? Am I just a convenient replacement for Fili? A spare part! Look she's young and has a brain, I know I'll say she's my daughter, now that Fili can't be bothered to rule she'll do for when I pop my clogs! Well sorry Thorin, I won't be toyed with!" She spat the words venomously, turning on her heel she half jogged to the door way, rounding the stone pillar she faced the anxious faces of the Company when Thorin grabbed her wrist and tugged her still.

"Damn it! Would you listen to me! I, Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain son of Thror am your father!" Thorin declared boldly in Khuzdul as Bow wrenched her wrist out of his grip.

"I don't know what your mumblings mean. If it's not some sick joke, you're either mad or delusional. The stress the journey has turned your mind against you," Bow's anger turned to pity and she sort Oin out amongst the group of faces.

"I am not mad!" Thorin snapped losing his temper. "I see it now like I didn't before. It makes sense; you have her hair, my temper evidently, her compassion- the way you treat the hobbit and the way you treated Estel at Rivendale- biting the top of the ear, Lif used to do that when you were a Dwarrow..."

"Have you not heard of coincidence!?" Bow said with exasperation, her hands shaking in frustration.

"It was no coincidence that you sang Durin's song at Beorn's. Dwalin heard it and recognised it, for my part I convinced myself it wasn't," Thorin raged, pointing at Dwalin who stood silently with his arms over his chest, for support. "Durin's song is sacred, a guarded secret of our house. Dwalin heard me singing it to you when you were scared during thunder storms, he would know he is your Godfather!"

Bow's and the Company's heads snapped towards Dwalin who closed his eyes and pushed through the group, until he stood by Thorin's side, thick arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face.

"He speaks the truth, I had my suspicions at Beorn's but it was not till Thorin told me of your coming to Lake town that I knew for certain," the old warrior said gruffly, his voice growing thick with emotion as memories washed over him.

Bow put her hands over her ears and shook her head. Their words didn't make sense, they didn't seem to fit. It would have been just so easy to smile and nod and embrace Thorin and take her place at his side but she couldn't. She wouldn't allow herself to be lied to.

"You're all mad!" She shouted desperately, starting to back away, when she felt two gentle hands on her back. Spinning around she saw Bilbo looking up at her.

"Bow, I don't think Thorin would lie about this," he said gently, his beady eyes quivering slightly as he looked past her at the Prince. She too, turned and stared, studying each face individually. Dwalin had turned an odd shade of purple, pain tortured his face and veins in his muscled neck throbbed. Thorin's face was steely but open, his sapphire eyes a mixed of pain and longing, his words were angry and frustrated but the tiniest hint of a smile cracked the corner of his mouth as if remembering a joke from years ago. Glancing at the Company, she saw they were a mix of awestruck, deep understanding and bafflement. Kili and Fili were having trouble keeping the helpless grins off their faces, as if all their prayers had been answered at once.

Bow held her hands up for silence and she closed her eyes to think. All was still, she heard a dozen breathes in and out, and could almost make out the pounding of Thorin's heart. Taking strength from the mountain under her feet and the Hobbits courage at her back, she opened her eyes and took two steps towards Thorin, before straightening her spine defiantly.

"I don't know if you're telling me lies or the truth. But either way Thorin, you've told your secret, so here's my big secret," Bow paused letting her words sink in and strengthened her resolve. "I've killed people, not just warriors but men women and children, men and elves and dwarves alike. I've stolen and maimed, and yes I killed Azog's son Bolg. Why?" Bow let out a dark humourless chuckle and dragged her hand threw her hair, "Because it was a matter of surviving and because I enjoyed it! Still want me as a daughter? Well there's one more thing- I've just formed a blood allegiance with Smuag."

Her words hung in the air and there was silence.


	21. Exile

"...I've just formed a blood allegiance with Smuag."

Her words hung in the air and there was silence.  
***  
A dozen heart beats passed before anyone made a noise. Bow waited barely registering the agonising silence that hummed behind the pounding blood of her ears.

Then ten voices decided to shout at once.

"You've done what!?" Gloin actually dug earwax out of his ears in case he had misheard her.

"You made a blood alliance with that, that beast?" Dwalin spat in disbelief turning an odd shade of purple.

"You cannot make alliances with mindless animals," Fili protested loudly, pushing past Bofur and Bifur to stand alongside Thorin.

"He has tricked you, he is trying to lull us into a trap!" Kili shook his head regretfully and refused to meet her eyes.

Bow raised her hands and waited for silence to fall. "I have made an alliance with Smuag, he is no longer a threat to us. He awaits you Thorin, to talk about terms and to finalise the contract at your leisure," Bow said curtly addressing Thorin who appeared too dumbstruck to talk, then raised her voice to speak to the company. "He isn't a mindless animal; he is clever and cunning. Far cleverer than me, than Balin even," Bow argued, trying to make them see sense. Without securing their confidence in Smuag, the alliance would fail and the mountain would be lost, the other destinies would take its place and the world descend into Darkness and worse, Thorin's death. "We don't know how to kill him anyway. This way, we prevent a suicidal attack and permanent protection for the mountain."

"No my king, he will kill you as soon as you approach!" Oin snapped viciously

"To what end?" Bow asked sharply, stepping towards the old healer: "Can we just all sit down and calmly discuss this?" She said evenly as exhaustion began to weary her again.

"Calmly! Calmly! I think calmly has passed Mistress Bow. Calmly was thrown out the bloody window when you went for a bloody chat with the bloody Dragon!" Dori raged wringing his hands together, glancing nervously at his brothers.

"He killed hundreds of our Kin, he is evil!" Nori declared, waging his finger to the heavens. Growling with frustration, Bow snapped her head round and faced Ori, whose eyes widened like plates and he squeaked.

"Master Ori, is a fox evil for killing a rabbit?" she asked the young dwarf steadily. Ori shuffled his feet and shook his head doubtfully. Bow nodded thankfully before holding her hands up for silence and raising her head proudly.

"I see things, visions on occasion. Smuag was looking for a burial chamber the day he came to Erebor, Smuag is dying," Bow began.

"He's taking an awful long time doing it," Kili remarked dryly.

"He is like an elf I think, but immortal to weapons. He has lived for aeons and after so long everything must come to an end," Bow shrugged. "He refuses to leave the mountain unguarded, though we are allowed to take the treasure,"-

"It is ours!" Bofur protested.

"I managed to convince him that he no longer had use for it. I promised him in return for a good burial and protection for the mountain and its treasure, he would gain its people," Bow explained to blank faces.

"Like sacrifices?" Oin asked, paling slightly.

"Very clever..." Balin acknowledged under his breath, while smile and stroking his long beard.

"The people who migrate to the mountain shall be his horde. A living horde that grows and carries on his name even after Smuag is long dead," Bow explained, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice as she spoke of the stroke of brilliance she'd had.

"How did you agree to this?" it was the first time Thorin had spoken. His voice was quiet and steady, he stared at the floor, while he cradled his chin in his hands.

"They did a blood oath," Bilbo piped up from behind her.

"You allowed her to face the dragons alone!?" Thorin asked fiercely, fuming at the thought of Branwen...No, Bow facing down the fire drake. But Bilbo didn't recoil, he held himself strong at her side, showing his support.

"I couldn't stop her, she got that crazed glint in her eye!" Bilbo exclaimed, then recoiled as Bow shot him a deadly look.

Thorin nodded and turned away to think for a moment, before turning and meeting Bow's determined eyes. "You should have come to me about this. As your king and Father you should have come to me for guidance."

Bow rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. "Ah! We're back onto this nonsense, really Thorin?! After good nights sleep you will see it is just your mind playing tricks on you," Bow sighed. She pitied him; he was seeing a child who he had lost and trying to see it in her, she wouldn't let him lie to himself. The Company grumbled but agreed, shaking their heads as they went back to their sleeping mats. Thorin closed the distance between them and titled his head to her ear.

"You said you wanted to find your family and your kin, but now I am here you refuse to believe, to accept. You deny you are my child who I have searched for over a century. How can I convince you?" Thorin said in an exhausted tone. Bow studied his face, lined and scarred, tired and weather beaten; the king appeared to rallying himself behind a false hope. If she abandoned him now would he shatter. Would it be the last straw to break the king's back?

"I was expecting to find a corpse or a dusty name in a book. You have had centuries, I have had fifteen minutes. Will you let me adjust, please?! It is, after all, quite a lot to take in," Bow said hoarsely, defending her actions.

"It has been rather a long day," Thorin sighed and dragged his hand through his hair.

"It has indeed. In the light of day we may both feel things differently, see things more clearly, at least trying to get some sleep will give us some rest;" Bow stated practically, thinking of the work that was still to be done.

"Very well, we shall talk more in the morning, good night Bran...Bow," Thorin nodded curtly.

"Goodnight Father." Bow wanted to see how the words felt in her mouth but it felt stupid and her face split into a smirk.

"Don't say that until you can keep a straight face," Thorin said in amusement before moving off to his own sleeping mat, Bow noted his ears were red and his cheeks had a rosy flush.

As soon as Thorin's eyes had closed in sleep, Bow dashed down to the treasure chamber and pre-warned Smuag that Thorin "would appreciate an audience tomorrow." Apparently after 70 years asleep Smuag had no concept of days and hours but he had allowed Thorin a few hours when she explained that they needed rest.

"And you fearrrrr." If it was a question or a statement, Bow didn't know, but Smuag lowered his massive head and regarded her with his glowing yellow eyes. Bow opened her mouth to speak but didn't know where to begin, so she pulled her confrontation with Company in the Rook and put it at the forefront of her mind.

"The otherrrrrr," Smuag rumbled, curling and uncurling his long spiked tail. Bow was puzzled at first by what he meant but shivered at the memory of Thorin's declaration.

"PAHHHHHHH..." Smuag let a billow of smoke out of his nostrils and his chest rumbled. "What you perceive, your observations, feelings, interpretations, are all your truth. Your truth is important. Yet it is not The Truthhhh," Smuag rumbled philosophically, blowing more steam from his nostrils.

"But what's that suppose to mean!?" Bow snarled in frustration to the dragon but Smuag couldn't care less, he closed his scaly eyelids and rolled over, curling his tail around his head.

Bow returned to the Rook for a few hours sleep and rose at dawn. One by one the dwarves awoke. They stretched and yawned and enjoy the brief few seconds of knowing that they had made it; they had made it into the mountains. But then reality set in. Sure, they had made it into the mountain, but their journey was far from complete.

To say the room had been tense that morning would have been the biggest understatement of the age.

Bow leaned against the doorway and waited with her arms crossed over her chest, flexing the fingers on her splinted hands experimentally. When Thorin, Dwalin and Balin stepped in front of her, standing to attention, Bow looked at Thorin who nodded silently and indicated that she should lead.

"Are you sure you're ready to do this?" Bow asked warily, eyeing the axes secularly strapped to Dwalin's back.

"Don't do what you can't undo until you've considered what you can't do once you've done it," Balin stated quizzically, strumming his fingers through his long beard.

Bow had no idea what he'd just said, so she shrugged and led the way.

They were silent as they walked down to the treasure chamber. Bow could now see the splendour of the Mountain and the great beauty that was hidden behind centuries of dusty and smoke. All the stone work was clouded behind streaks of soot and intricate carvings had lost their shine. Thorin ran his hand over a colourful mosaic that had been shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, his fist closed around one shard until blood ran down his arm.

"I truly wish I had died that day, there on the scorched walls of my forefathers. I should have fallen with my comrades, not skulked off into the night," Thorin breathed bitterly into his fist. Balin and Dwalin had carried on walking down the corridor, too mesmerised by old memories to wait for the embittered King.

"Is this what this is to you? A suicide mission? " Bow let out a dark and humourless laugh, dragging a hand through her knotted hair. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint you but you're not dying here or any time soon."

Thorin dropped the piece of tile, looked at his bleeding palm, and began to walk again. "I admit that the thought has been in the back of my mind. My death would certainly rally the dwarf kingdoms into action, my death would help many..." His words trailed off but, before Bow knew what she was doing Bow grabbed his collar and turned his to face her.

"But it wouldn't help them," she pointed at Balin and Dwalin down the corridor, "and it wouldn't help me. Now pull yourself together; we've come this far, you can't let me down now." With a glare and a shove she pushed him down the corridor.

The fate of the mountain rested with its kings and its people, not with some wanderer and urchin, so after making a stiff introductions and acknowledgements, Bow left the dwarves and the dragon to come to terms. Terms which, though she didn't know it then, that would change the fate of Middle Earth forever.

But at the time Bow was too busy staring at the beautiful treasures around her to notice the events unfolding . She could now see why Thorin was so concerned about the treasure before. The dim light reflecting of diamonds and the riot of colours in a sapphire were truly entrancing, she had to shake herself out of a daze and sat up at the sound of echoing coins. Balin, Thorin and Dwalin were climbing down the mountain of treasure with Smuag looking after them, his yellow eyes watching every move they made. Bow met them at the bottom of the pile, curtsied at the dragon like Bilbo had taught her and got something that was between an amused snort and a gurgle from Smuag.

Bow resigned herself to the fact that she wasn't cut out for curtsying.

"What, Smuag got your tongues? Tell me how it went?" Bow demanded once they were scaling the main staircase. She looked from Thorin and Balin, they faces were a mix of bemusement, absurdity, and annoyance. Bow turned to Dwalin who looked like he was trying to thread a needle. He swallowed and his dark eyebrows crinkled.

"Not terrible," was all Dwalin could mumble.

In the two weeks that followed, many things changed. Bofur collected Bombur from the lower slopes and the huge dwarf started cooking for them again, although he could only do so much with stale bread and rats. Even so, but the Company's good cheer was brightened by the dwarf.

Balin was in his element, spending hours scribbling on any scrap of paper he could find and sitting dawn till dusk with the Smuag so that they might finalise their contract. "This will be the greatest work of diplomacy of the Age!" Balin declared proudly, flourishing the last page of the finalised contract .

"Is all that really necessary?" Bow asked suspiciously as she peered at the wad of paper that was almost a foot thick.

"Oh yes, it covers every eventuality and holds no loop holes. Written in all three Khuzdul dialects, all seven Elvin tongues, Westron, the language of Mordor and some Valar: it is full proof! All the ancient languages are binding and Smuag has sworn in all of them." Balin said in satisfaction, smoothing his hands over the pale parchment. He was like a proud mother hen and her chick, it would have almost been cute to watch if the fate of the mountain hadn't been held in the balance of one very flimsy document.

Bilbo spent much time wandering the empty halls and passageways. He seemed drawn to the Great library that now lay in ruin; thousands of parchments had been shredded by termites and wood beetles over the centuries. Even though Bow couldn't understand the stick like symbols she had searched for one fragment to be whole, but she had searched in vain and finally succumbed to the knowledge that she would never fully know where she belonged.

After trying to breach the subject of parentage with her and pressuring her into taking up residence in "the Hall of Durin heirs," Bow and Thorin had finally reached a stalemate. She would not listen to fancy, lies or humour his hallucinations, so she did what she did best and hid.

And in turn Thorin avoided her. He would stare at his gold long into the early hours in the morning and lost all concept of time, wallowing in deep turmoil and disappointment. Thorin caressed the Dwarven ring of power that had been Thror's and gazed at the light dancing of the piles of gold, lost in memory and thought.

Bow had spent the day, as she usually did, avoiding Thorin. More importantly; she was packing. She had no purpose anymore; her contract was void, her payment couldn't be paid so, nothing kept her anymore. With a numb feeling spreading through her body, Bow packed what little she had still in the Rook and planned to say her goodbyes.

Shouldering her pack, Bow turned and surveyed the cavern that had sheltered them, her eyes settled on the podium where Dwalin had told her the Raven King had once sat, that stood out of the rock . Before she knew it, her feet were moving.

The dusty hall was unchanged. Eerie and silent, she could almost hear the lost voices in the air; happy chatter, laughter, a deep voice singing... Just as she thought she could hear it was gone, lost to a fateful past.

Bow set her bag down by the door and slowly; ran the ends of her fingers over the cupboards, the sink, the damp moth bitten coats. She sighed when she saw the evidence left behind after Thorin's announcement , Bow righted the table and pulled the chair standing. She was about to leave when something in her gut told her to stay. Following the urge she lowered her chin and rested her head on the top of the back of the chair, letting her eyes wander of the ruined shell of a room, when her eyes caught something.

Under the simple bed frame and drape of mouldy blankets and leaves, there appeared to be a box just hidden in shadow. Bow crossed the room, groped on her hands and knees for a few seconds before hooking the box with her finger and pulling it out from under the bed with a cloud of dust.

The box was boring and brown but meticulously wrapped in string and tied with a written label. Ignoring what she could not read, Bow shrugged and plucked at the knot until it came undone, revealing two objects that took her breath away. Two shirts made of woven silver shone like stars caught in a fisherman's net, like embroidered moonbeams. As Bow traced her fingers over the silver scales she found them both soft and hard, silky yet as strong as ox hide. Lying on top of the two shirts was a blue envelope, sealed with navy blue wax and one word scrawled in loopy lettering on the front. As Bow picked it up, the sweet scent of almond and maple wafted over her.

Lifting it to her nose, Bow breathed in the heady scent again, savouring it and letting it take her mind away. The perfume danced around her mind and awaking the music in her, her song...what had Thorin called it, Durin's song? Warming and welcoming, beckoning her with open arms and the brush of rough hands and the sound of a voice but whose...

"Bow!" Bow's eyes slammed open and she dropped the letter, dropping into fighting stance. Dori stood at the door, panting a red faced but his urgency was lost when his eyes fell on the box. Ignoring Bow completely he crossed the room to get a better look. "Mithril. How on earth?" He scanned the letter and his mouth fell open and he flushed with embarrassment.

"What is Mithril?" Bow asked abruptly, not understanding why Dori was feeling awkward.

"Chainmail, the finest there is or will ever by. Can stop a sword or axe or," Dori said gazing dreamily at the Mithril shirts before shaking himself and declaring urgently "...We haven't time. Thorin demands your presence at the main archway."Normally Bow would have out right refused to obey Thorin's "demand," but Dori was almost shaking with stress as she hurried after him.

The horizon was on fire. Thick clouds of acid smoke filled the air and Bow's lungs. Thunder and lightning cracked the bleeding sky and heavy drops of rains lashed the ground, were whipped by a maelstrom of wind. Even in the midst of the storm Bow could see the flames rising from Laketown, and the long line of refugees running like a line of ants towards the mountain.

Bow skidded to a halt on the largest balcony above the archway. The Company were assembled along the edge, Thorin stood flanked by Balin and Dwalin on his left, Fili and Kili on his right.

At the sound of her heavy footsteps he glanced behind, before inclining his head to her and making a space for her to stand next to him, before he carried on speaking.

"And why should we, Bard the Bowman? Did Esagaroth come to our aid when Erebor fell?!" Thorin shouted at the dozen horsemen stood at the foot of the mountain.

"We gave you aid, we..." the tiny figure of Bard shouted from below them. Out of the half injured and elderly of his companions, the Captain had taken charge.

"You gave us nothing! We still had to face the dragon alone. You of thought nothing but our gold. You did not help us when the dragon attacked and we will not help you now; he is our ally!" Thorin silenced Bard with a deafening boom, he gripped the balustrade until his knuckles were white and the muscles in his forearms bunched.

"Please, my king! We have injured and dying, the Orcs are hunting us down -" It was Bow's turn to cut Bard off.

"How many?!" Bow had to shout over the howling wind, leaning forward over the stonework. Fili's hand grabbed her jerkin and hauled her back from the edge. Bard glanced behind him nervously and scanned the horizon as if looking for the enemy.

"Thousands, led by a pale Orc." Bard's words caused terror to grow and shiver through Bow's bones: Azog the defiler had returned. To her far left she heard Dwalin swear and Thorin's growl turned into a roar of frustration. Throwing his hands in the air, he pointed and glared down at Bard and his rabble of survivors.

"Ha! The gods finally have their vengeance! May the payment be sweet. You will suffer as we have suffered and endure pain like we endured. You will not partake in our gold until you have bled and have fought for your home! Our gold, our mountain, not yours or your Laketown men!" Thorin screamed into the whirl of wind and rain, teeth bared and a feverish glint in his glacial eyes. Bow made to reach out to him but his head snapped in her direction and gazed at her with unseeing eyes.

"Thorin we cannot leave them to be murdered at out gates. If Azog still hunts, let me go out and face him!" Bow declared, trying to draw Thorin from his bloodlust. Something snapped in Thorin's eyes and he seemed to falter, but then he glanced back at the treasure chamber and he was lost.

"No! You Laketown men are to make no demands of me, Thorin Oakenshield son of Thrain, after you saw our blood and spilled the blood of Durin personally. Our gold will remain here, in the hands of the untainted!" With a last surge of fury and pelt of rain, Thorin whirled and strode into the mountain.

Bow would have run after him and beat some sense into him. But she'd seen Gold Sickness before and knew Thorin was lost to its curse. A numb pain pressed down over her chest but she refused to dwell on it as dozen of black shapes whisked and bobbed through the swirling sky.

The Ravens were returning to Erebor

"Please! This is urgent," she pleaded at the hundred of cold black eyes that watched her from the carved out shelves of the Rook. The Ravens had returned to the mountain. Bow had heard about the massive birds who could speak in Westron; never before had she given it much though. But racing from the balcony with the distant sound of drums of war in her ears, she was willing to believe in anything.

The Madness had taken Thorin, she could see it even if his dwarves couldn't. The feverish glint she had seen in his eye, the hallucinations. He'd thought she was his daughter-Bow had been so tempted to believe, to believe in a mad man's dream. It would have been so easy and so wrong.

If they weren't besieged and the people of Laketown massacred at their gates, Thorin would lead them to ruin. The noble king she knew was lost and she would need all the help she could get to save them all.

"Thorin needs your help! Surely, if you've returned to the mountain, you'd want to protect it!" She called to the expressionless black beaks that tilted and peered down at her. Bow was about to give up when a murmur of flapping wings and tapping of claws on stone started as a two young ravens descended from the top shelves of the cave and landed at her feet, they cawed at her and nipped and pulled at her trousers for her to follow. Silently, she did.

At the very edge of the cave, half covered in shadow, was a pile of dirty grey feathers that heaved and shifted. With a wheezing breath the pile of feathers moved and to milky grey eyes looked up at her from the floor.

"The mountain ,"the old raven sucked in a shaky breath and Bow had to kneel by his side to hear him clearly,"...is protected by...the dragon." The raven made a choky noise and his breathing became laboured.

"Yes, but I fear Thorin has lost his mind and lose his life if he doesn't see sense. An army of Orcs are at our door and Laketown is destroyed, yet he will do nothing," Bow implored as a helpless feeling settled in her chest. One of the younger ravens moved forward and bowed to the raven elder.

"What would you have us do King Roäc?" the raven said respectfully. The Raven King wheezed again, pausing a moment to think.

"Go to the hills of Iron." Roäc raised his head slightly and wheezed, "send word of Goblins and that the mountain is reclaimed but in peril." At his words the young raven bowed again before turned and cawing up at the rock shelves. Half a dozen ravens fluttered down from their perches and swooped out the cave after the young raven.

"Thank you my lord," Bow said earnestly bowing her head and then rising to her feet, she turned to leave.

"I am old and I am blind," Roäc began in an old shaky voice, "but I can still see clearly. It is good to see you have grown strong, highest of flyers..." His voice drifted off into nothing and his shaky breaths stopped along with the rise and fall of his grey feathers. The Ravens of Erebor batted their wings and screamed so loud that Bow had to cover her ears. Roäc the Raven King was dead.

Leaving the Ravens to their grief, Bow took the secret passage and lent against the closed stone door but not a minute passed when Kili came sprinting towards her, ashen white under his dark hair and flushed cheeks. He caught her shoulders and half bent double with exhaustion tried to drag her down the corridor.

"Kili, what is it!?" she asked savagely knocking his hands off her shoulders and pulling him upright.

"Bilbo...Arkenstone...Bard and ... and Thorin," Kili's panting caught into his throat and turned into a dry sob, he shook his head and slammed his eyes closed, trying to drag her along but not having the strength anymore.

Bow's blood ran cold at his words.

"Stop! Breathe, then speak," she stated evenly, holding him still with the collar of his jacket. Kili nodded and covered his mouth with his hands, drawing a long shaky breath. Steadying himself, he nodded and urged her to walk.

"Bilbo somehow found the Arkenstone and has given it to Bard and the Laketowners,"- he paused as the rounded the corner and jogged down a flight of stairs. "He said that Thorin was being unfair and that if he wanted the Arkenstone back, he'd have to give the Laketowners sanctuary..."

Bow listened silently , hoping that Thorin hadn't done what she'd thought he'd done.

"...Thorin went ballistic, he raved and cursed and –" Kili paused again and appeared to swallow and lump in his throat, "He grabbed Bilbo and held him over the balcony. He was going to kill him Bow, just let him fall! If Fili and Dwalin hadn't been there... I don't know what would have happened!" They stopped before the lower levels where the Company had been staying and Kili turned to her and looked at her evenly. "Thorin just screamed at him and Bilbo ran and then, well, he just vanished. Thorin's banished him on pain of death."

She had never been in the throne room; it had never interested her. But as she pushed open the burnished golden doors she was overcome by a sense of...sickness. It was if an old hunting dog who had been a powerful predator in his day was now suffering from some dieses that was eating it from the inside out; and so the throne room, appearing splendid with gold and emerald carvings, was rotten and festering, cracks appearing and stone crumbling away from the throne itself.

And there Thorin sat, watching her from his high seat as she approached his gaze empty and baleful. Bow stopped at the foot of the steps to the throne, straightened her spine defiantly and met Thorin's close eyes.

"I hear you have banished Bilbo from Erebor," Bow stated curtly, her voice void of emotion.

"He is a traitor! He gave the Arkenstone to the Laketowners, to Bard the Bowmen of all people!" Thorin spat, gripping the arms of the throne until his knuckles turned white.

"He did the right thing! You cannot let them die right in front of the door. If the Arkenstone is all you care about then give them safe refuge and you shall get it back," Bow retorted quickly, meeting his anger word for word.

"He has betrayed me! Betrayed the mountain, betrayed our people-"Thorin began but Bow's anger snapped as he slandered her friend's name.

"No, you betrayed the people when you sold your soul for gold and succumbed to the Gold sickness!" Bow bellowed, but then she steadied herself and calmed her anger. "Thorin, it is only a rock! Think of how many lives you would save if you just..." she began, meeting Thorin's empty eyes levelly, but Thorin cut her off.

"You know nothing of this! The "Rock," as you call it was sent by Aüle himself, passed from my Grandfather to my father. It is my birth rite and I will not sit by and watch it bargained away-"

"It would not be bargained away, you would get it back!" Bow interrupted but Thorin carried on shouting.

"So I am ordering you to steal from Bard, kill him if you have to!" Thorin growled baring his teeth, his chest rising and falling with panted breaths.

"What!? I am not stealing anything. You exiled your burglar and I am not Bilbo's replacement!" Bow cried with exasperation, almost shaking with frustration.

"You'll do as I tell you, Bow!" Thorin growled, leaning forward and gripping white knuckled to the throne.

"Curse Aüle! I am not one of your men to order Thorin, so you better change your tone with me and quick!" she challenged, trying to control her temper.

"Are you questioning my authority?" Thorin asked coldly as he rose to his feet and glared down at her with loathing.

"No, I am questioning your judgement. Just step back and think for a moment," Bow stated sharply, refusing to rise to his challenge.

"It is not your place to pass judgment. I am your King and your father and you will do as I say!" He roared, closing the distance between them and holding his head inches from hers, his feverish eyes burning with madness. Bow didn't retreat, she met his gaze and curled her upper lip.

"Or what? You'll exile me, fine, I will leave with Bilbo. But if you were my father, you are not the dwarf I thought you were. My father would not let the lust for gold outweigh his reason. And as far as being my king goes, the king I gave my allegiance to would be heartbroken if he could see what he has become," Bow said dangerously, letting out a dark humourless chuckle, before stepping back and walking away.

Reaching the door Bow turned back and looked at the mad Prince, who was silently watching her, his emotions unreadable. "Don't bother exiling me, I leave of my own free will. But I will mourn the death of the Prince I once knew."Bow paused to take a steady breath and push away the painful lump in her throat. Opening the door, she stepped out and looked back. "Thorin Oakenshield, King Under The Mountain, may you live forever."

Closing the door, she left Thorin to his madness.

Bow held her breath until she reached the first landing up the great stair case. Rubbing at her flushed cheeks and dragging her hand threw her tangled her, she rested her head on her arms and leant against the balustrade.

She'd been leaving anyway, planning on running again, moving on to another decade of aimless wandering. But this was different, she was abandoning them when she could help, when she could have... Have what? She didn't know.

I bet long lost Branwen would know, Bow thought dryly.

As she straightened, the quiet sound of breathing caught her attention. She tensed and whirled round to find no one there but the faint flicker of grass green aura told her otherwise.

"Bilbo?" she whispered tentatively into the air. She got no response but heard the scuff of feet and saw a hobbit foot print in the stone dust. "Bilbo, I know about the Arkenstone and I just want to say," Her voice dried up as a fist sized lump rose up her throat. "I think you did the right thing. But I need to ask one last favour of you." The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying, but in that split second decision a plan formed.

Thorin was lost, but the heirs still had a chance.

"I know it is a lot to ask but one last favour, for me..." she relayed her orders to the air, hoping that Bilbo hadn't wandered off. "Tell Fili from me "long live the King." Thank you Master Baggins," she concluded before inclining her head and continuing up the stairs.

The Rook was empty and eerily quiet without the Ravens. The only indication that they had ever been was the charcoal feathers that littered the floor. Roäc's body was gone but the smell of death still hung in the air.

Bow picked up her pack from where she had left it early that morning and slung it over her shoulder.

"You're leaving us, you coward!" Bow tensed and turned to see Dwalin standing in the passageway, disbelief and betrayal in his amber eyes. Bow looked at her feet in shame.

"I am not afraid to die Dwalin, but I refuse..." She began to say hollow words that she didn't believe but Dwalin snapped.

"No, not to die but to live!" Dwalin stalked forward, his face turing dawn red and the muscles in his neck clenched. "To fight and stand by your father and your king. It is not about what is right and wrong, it is about doing what is loyal." The disappointment in his tone was worse than his shout. To Bow it was like a kick in the stomach.

"He is not my King..." she tried to defend herself weakly, avoiding his eyes.

"DON'T YOU DARE!" Dwalin's disappointment and frustration erupted, and the old warrior unleashed a roar that dwarfed any battle cry. Bow actually stumbled backwards at its force. "He is as much your king as he is your blood! He is a part of you and you pretend you don't care when he needs you most. You don't want to believe he is your father because you are scared, too scared to stand by his side. And to think my own Godchild would repulse me so. You are a coward!"

Bow put her hands over her ears and tried to block out his voice but she couldn't, her ears rang with Dwalin's truth, even as she tried to reject it with every fibre of her being. Bow fell to her knees and pressed her face into the cold ground.

"He is your blood as much as your mother is your blood. Lifrasir would be ashamed of you! Ashamed and sickened to have given birth to a cowardly traitor!"

She had the barest awareness of Dwalin glaring over her with revulsion in his eyes. She didn't know why his words affected her so badly; was it being repulsed by someone she considered a friend and ally, or was it because he had stripped away her armour with his truths and left her bare and burned like the child running from Laketown she had been so long ago.

Whatever it was, Bow couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She couldn't stand it.

Tumbling in a whoosh! of air and all consuming panic, Bow rolled her body away from Dwalin's fiery anger. And then she was running blindly, fumbling for the secret door to the outer mountain and out into the night air. She heard her name echo of the mountainside but didn't stop to listen.

Using the last of her strength concentrating on exhaling and inhaling, keeping her legs moving underneath her, running down to the wild black waste lands of the Desolation, stumbling into the night, leaving the crumbling mountain and the family she could have had behind her.

She kept herself moving, pushing pain from her mind. Survival was more important. Adrenaline and fear can make people into animals, and that's what Bow became; animal instinct to survive.

She was running again.


	22. Game of the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prepare for existential crisis

And she ran. Bow ran until her mind emptied of thought and feelings. All the shame and loneliness and loss drained from her body in the pounding of her feet. She ran until her lungs burned and the wounds on her feet opened and bled. But she ran, out of thought and out of mind, until all she was aware of was the pain and the changing horizon. Desolation travelled by under her feet and the grassland opened up. Hills rose in the distance and to the fair left she could see the wispy smoke of Laketown's smouldering remains.

She stumbled but didn't look back, never glanced over her shoulder at the goal that had eluded her for so long, at the home that was now lost.

"Don't worry lass, not matter what happens you'll always have a place amongst the Company," Bofur's words had never sounded so hallow. How wrong he had been.

Her knees ached and her feet grew heavy but she couldn't stop, couldn't let the pain settle and build. She couldn't let herself stop.

Bow ran herself into exhaustion. As a new day dawned and the chill of the might was replaced with the suns warmth, Bow stumbled again and finally fell to her knees- she could run no more. Pressing her face to the dusty earth, she let the lump in her throat grow until a sob escaped her lips. And she cried. Pain and suffering, betrayal she had committed and dishonour she had done her comrades.

"You are a coward!" The words stung her mind, she tried to hide from them but they always found their mark.

"You are a coward!" She was. She was a coward. Give her blood and battle any day, but when it counted on friendship and loyalty, she was truly lost.

Bow looked up at the sky, her face was sweaty, tear stained and covered in dirt. She cursed at the sun and the air and the cloudless morning sky. She raged at the heavens.

"Why! Why was I made this way!? Why couldn't it have been easy! I've wanted family all my life but I couldn't believe Thorin was my father. Why! You test me and I survive, I always survive when those around me suffer and die. Am I truly cursed?! Can I not for once win a battle without bloodshed, please! For mercy sake, just...just..."

"You do an awful lot of moaning for one so young. Wait until you have seen as many winters as me, then and only then may you moan about pain." Bow whirled around at the sound of the ancient voice behind her. A figure stood, stooped and hunched, his black hood hiding his face. His cloak was poor and tattered, covered in dust and splattered with mud, it looked as old as the stranger's voice sounded.

"Then obviously you do not know the pain of which I speak. Now be gone before my cursed life pollutes yours as well," Bow said bitterly, wiping away tears with the back of her hand and pushing herself to her feet. Taking a shaky breath Bow began to walk again.

"Are you cursed?" the hooded figure asked with interest and began to follow a few yards behind her.

"How could I not be, pain and suffering follows wherever I go. Be gone before you catch it yourself," Bow protested weakly, putting all her strength into keeping her feet moving.

"Have you ever considered that it would have been a lot worse if you had not been there at all?" This time the stranger's croaky voice echoed around inside her skull, sucking all the power out of her muscles, and she gradually halted to a stop.

Bow swayed on her feet and stared at the horizon. The moon and stars rose simultaneously, whilst clouds and lighting danced an intricate ballet to entertain them. The sun scorched and the moon froze. Bow fell out of time, years passed in seconds but she grew younger with every passing minute. Her head fell forward and her mind fell into the cracking stone beneath her feet which filled with the life blood that drained out of her veins, creating an elaborate mosaic of blood and granite.

"What would have happened if you hadn't have saved Thorin Oakenshield Son of Thrain from the stakes in South Farthing Woods? What would have been lost to Arda?" The wanderer's voice had changed, no longer old and croaky, but peaceful and benevolent. Bow's body turned as if she was a puppet on a string.

The stranger before her was familiar yet so alien, so close and yet so far. His face was handsome and his jaw strong and chiselled; His caramel skin was dark yet had an iridescent glow; His hair was black as night and oiled, trimmed neatly and fastened with crystal beads engraved with a geometric design that Bow had never seen before. He was taller than any son of man, making Bow feel both safe and intimidated. Every inch of his bare torso was toned gleaming muscle, his arms were thick and strong, streaks of soot and sweat rippled over his skin. His dark eyes danced with sparks and fire, amber and red like heated coals; Bow dared not look away. The stranger placed a hand on the great hammer that was hung from his belt, he tilted his head down, letting his dark hair fall about his face and he smiled warmly.

"Who are you?" Bow heard herself say in a hoarse voice.

"I have many names my child," the benevolent said inside her head again. Bow flinched and the stranger smiled encouragingly. "You do not know me but you are of my children. They call me Aüle out of love and prayer, but you use my name in anger."

"I...I am not one of your children. I belong to no one," Bow stammered barely able to speak. The aura around this being was white hot, like the center of a star, it was almost blinding to look at yet Bow found it impossible to look away. Aüle smiled and nodded with omniscient understanding, he glided forward and stooped to cup Bow's chin with worn warm hand, both powerful and caring.

"I carved you out of rock, like I did your ancestor Durin. You are one of my child as much as you are Thorin Oakenshield Son of Thrain and Lifthrasir daughter of Mimir. You may not have known me but I am always with my children," Aüle spoke gently in her mind, under his finger tips her skin burned and images of a great lake and the dawn of the First age were imprinted into her mind. It was overwhelming, Bow tried to shrink from his touch but Aüle held her jaw firm in his strong palm.

"I am sorry, I can't be their child. You must be mistaken,-" Bow pleaded weakly, trying in vain to look away from his dark eyes. To that Aüle threw his head back and let out a long hard howl of laughter, that filled the sky, and mad forks of lightening stabbed the sky.

"I have seen more than a thousand of your lifetimes and I have watched your bloodline closer than the moon and the stars. Destiny is the play thing of the Valar, Thorin and Lifthrasir were joined so that many would live. I would be a poor father indeed if I let my greatest peoples fall. They pledged in my children's binding language for one purpose, one higher purpose." He paused and let his smile grow wider "You."

Bow tried to speak, tried to shout and scream and pull away, but the god had frozen her. All muscles were lead weights and boulders hung off her hands. NO! You are mistaken, please please...You have to be mistaken.

"I am your God and creator yet you still do not believe." Aüle paused and his dark eyes probed hers while his presence shuffled through her memories. "You do not believe you are worthy... worthy enough to have earned one as noble as Thorin Oakenshield."

Bow opened her mouth to speak but the God had already seen her thoughts. "You are not Smike . You are a killer but not a murderer. You are a predator who kills because they have to. The trials I set you were needed and will show in time: They taught you pain and strength but they made you humble and strong. My children have been polluted by the gold that they covet. Sauron's evil has brought my people's chieftains to their knees. You have known poverty and desire beauty not value." With searing warmth, Aüle sent images flashing in front of her eyes in seconds.

She saw the Rings of power given to the Dwarf lords and the Gold sickness that they helped spread. Bow saw a grey haired King with platinum zigzagging clasps in his beard cradling his ring and dancing on piles of gold, then his grandson, darker and younger but Bow would know Thorin anywhere, rejecting all the outside world for the company of gold.

"You have inherited the Sight through the blood of Durin and have seen what will happen if Erebor falls; with it will end the days of the my children and thus they will diminish and be nothing more than mountain men." Aule's voice turned cold and bitter and in a blinding flash of light, she saw the bleeding body of Thorin at the gates of Erebor and the mountain itself in shadow. Bow's knees buckled and her body gave way in horror of the reality that she had seen. But Aüle held her mind fast.

"You are the catalyst that has been the outcome of thousands of years worth of work. Your mother is the direct bloodline to the noblest of my children who first befriended the house of Numenor and your father is Thorin reincarnated, strong and full of life blood of Durin, one of my first children. It is you Branwen, who will save the Age of the Dwarves and make them great once again,"Aüle said with pride, letting his mournful gaze drift from Bow's eyes and off into the swirly horizon. Bow tried to stand but her heavy body was heavy and her limbs felt thick, so she knelt and pressed her hands into her thighs to steady herself.

"My lord...Aüle, I am not that person. What if I can't save them? I wouldn't know how or where to start!?" Bow implored, suddenly feeling faint. Aüle sighed deeply and turned his powerful gaze back to her.

"You are stubborn. But Yavanna declares you caring and compassionate for your love of her Hobbit. Thus with a heavy heart, I grant you two wishes. First I will allow you to see the life you lost and second if you wish, I will let you walk free and turn your back on your Kin." The god's voice was sombre in her mind, but his face remained impassive, his dark bottomless eyes twinkling like pits of fire.

Aüle beckoned with his index finger and a pebble rose from the ground and floated into his waiting palm. Aüle pressed his other palm flat onto of the pebble and waited, Bow watched with amazement as Aüle raised his hand and revealed an elegant carved goblet. The stone was worked so thin that it could have been woven with lace, the colours so rich and dark it made coal look bright. Aüle smiled at her wonder as the Great Smith bent down and offered her the goblet.

"This water is from the fountains of memory. Cool and clear, it will give you the clarity to see which you have lost," he said calmly as Bow gingerly took the cup. She studied the water before sucking in a calming breath.

"Will I still remember who I am after?" Bow asked with anxiety gnawing at her gut.

"You will be all, all memories that make up who you are. Princess Branwen of Erebor, Damson of Laketown, Girl Wanderer and Bow Traveller the Guide are who you will be and always, but with your last wish you choose what to do with these lives that I have given you," Aüle affirmed, nodding slowly, and placing two fingers on the base of the goblet as Bow's trembling hands raised it to her lips.

The Great Smith was right; it was cool and clear like any fresh forest spring. But as it hit the roof Bow's mouth, she saw two black hands cloaked in smoke grab her minds eyes and drag her back into the darkness of her skull.  
****  
They had been a long days of warmth and comfort, dewy and golden, the memories I saw blurred into one, but remained pleasant and welcoming: as if the pages of an aged book greeted me home.

I could see a tall dark figure, strong and steadfast, I would cling to the giant for comfort and safety when the sky thundered and a storm brewed. The giant would hum, deep and melodic, but with a sweet and warming rhythm. He held me on his lap, one massive hand holding me upright as he plaited my hair, humming all the time, until I would curl up and fall asleep.

Father, I heard my mother call him with a smile. He was young and handsome, leaner but still powerful . He smiled freely and it warmed me, she felt at home with his laughter.

And then there was my mother, I remembered more of her, alive and bright. She was like amber, dancing with energy, swaying to and fro with me curled to her chest, my father standing close: his massive arms wrapped around us both protectively, comfortingly.

His arms could stop anything, I knew it and believed it. For on the rare occasion my mother cried or showed fear, father would step forward, wrap her up and whisper soothing words in his deep humming voice and as if by magic, the world would be well again.

There was a chill to the air when i ran in the garden before breakfast. Roäc had said hello and I had waved and bowed before darting off to dig out worms in the vegetable patch for my best friends Gritl and Harc. Mother had pretended to be angry at the mud but laughed when father tried wash me down with a cloth.

Later as Father had said goodbye, I wrapped my arms around his neck and breathed in his comforting scent of cider and maple, before giggling manically as I licked his cheek.

But then the memories stopped and turned cold.

My world had shattered into a thousand sharp pieces of glass and smoke and burning filled the air. I cried out and her mother had scooped her up into her arms, her scent of almonds mixing with the smell of burning.

Suddenly the green wooden door to our home burst open and a warrior entered, flushed and looking half savage but I knew him, he was familiar to me. I didn't know what a "Godfather," was but Dwala and I played hunting games until he got tired then we sat and ate spiced apple cookies until we felt sick.

"Dwalin what is that?" Mother asked, holding me tighter as the chamber shook again.

"Dragon! We must go now!" Dwala ordered ushering her out the door without a moments delay, only allowing her to grab her sword belt and my coat on her way out. I jumped into Dwala's arm wishing they were fathers.

And then they ran, hallways passed and blurred as I buried my face into Dwala's hair, before being passed to Mother.

And then suddenly, we were outside. The smell of smoke clogged my throat and made me gag, and Mother passed me over to Dwala who held me with ease, his beard tickling my skin as I buried my hands in it.

"Thorin... ?" Mother panted, her face flushed and her chest rising and falling rapidly as she questioned Dwala.

"He's getting people out through the front; he couldn't have reached you in time, he said..." Dwala shifted me in his arms and glanced back to my mother, his shoulders slackened and his face sagged slightly. Mother was at his side in a moment.

He must have seen Aunt Dissy. He only got sad after he saw her.

"Dwalin it's going to be alright. We are not his only responsibility, I know this." She smiled at Dwala, who smiled back, soot and smoke streaking his face. My mother looked to me and tucked some hair behind my ear. "We'll worry about us first, then Father later, wont we? My little Dwarrow," she hummed, sorrow in her eyes but kept the smile on her face and her voice light. I smiled a little and tugged at Dwala's beard playfully. He chuckled and held me closer so that my legs wrapped round his waist.

I missed Harc and Roac and Father, always Father by the time we stopped. The night and cold sky made me shiver, I stood and watched the orange horizon. Then I froze and let out a scream as visions flew in front of my eyes.

My first taste of Sight was bitter. I saw three monsters approach out of the blackness, Dwala and my mother fought like warriors of old but it was no good, two blades pierced her body and she fell. I saw Dwala cry for the first time and Father become a shadow.

My mother shook me awake and urged me to run and hide. I did.

I ran until I couldn't breathe, then pushed myself into a rabbit hole, waiting until I heard my mother's or Father's voice. They never came.

I waited until the darkness was suffocating and pressed against my skin, clinging to my throat and stamping on my lungs. I couldn't take the small space. Running into the night, I scanned the blackness but only found distant lights of a town and even though exhausted I ran in terror as lighting split the sky.

***  
Branwen wretched and vomited onto the ground, she continued heaving until her stomach was empty and her throat raw. It was as if her mind was rejecting the memories that had been crammed into her head but she held them and cradled them, they gave her hope, they gave her a family. Who was she now? She couldn't tell, she was of royal blood and she was of the strongest heir to the throne, she was Durin's descendant. She was a dwarf of Erebor.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stumbled to her feet and faced the god who waited silently.

"Thorin was telling the truth..." Branwen gasped in disbelief, still reeling from her out of body experience. Aüle cocked his head.

"What purpose would he have to lie my child?" Aüle asked mockingly, a smile ghosting across his lips. Branwen closed her at her own stupidity and dragged her hand threw her hair.

"I thought he was trying to replace-" Branwen began but stopped herself. She couldn't tell him about Kili and Fili, surely it would bring down his wrath on them. But Aüle chuckled warmly and regarded her evenly.

"The Sons of Eitri are two of the same soul, as such cannot carry on the line but together you could not ask for more valuable allies. They should not fear me, you were right to trust them," Aüle nodded approvingly but his words made her pause.

"But I cannot carry on the family blood line! Though I am not a maiden I have never come into season or have suffered to carry a child," Branwen said with shame, looking down at her entwined fingers. Aüle reached down and smoothed his thumb across her brow.

"You have had to suffer such to be who you are. I never allowed the line to be tainted by evil. Fulfil your mission and I'll see that the blood line will not fail. Do not fear; your time will end with the coming of the next generation," Aüle dropped his hands from her smiling face and straightened, resting his hands on his bare hips. "This means you are not leaving I take it." The god actually smirked as she slapped the side of her face.

"I need to get back to Erebor! Thorin is...well, Bard and then Azog. Did the Ravens get there in time? And then-"Branwen began frantically but Aüle held up his worn had and ordered her silence.

"Much has happened and time is against even me. Enemies approach on all sides, will Thorin's child stay and do battle, or will the wanderer walk the wilderness until death and sickness take her?" Aüle asked sombrely, looking down at her from his full height.

"I am Branwen and I will fight for my Father, for Thorin. The Company and the mountain are all I have left," Branwen declared with manic determination, she clenched her fists together and glancing down realised that the bones in her hand had been healed and her feet were strong and untarnished.

"Very well my child," Aüle nodded. The world that he had created for them began to flicker and fade, the moon sank and grass appeared around her feet, a gentle breeze touched her face bringing with it the smell of smoke on the wind. "There is much to be done and many leagues still to travel. Take heart; you are stronger than you think Branwen BowTraveller daughter of Thorin King Under the Mountain." Aüle's voice grew distant and his figure flickered and then died, disappearing before her very eyes.

Gods, Branwen thought dryly rolling her eyes. At her feet lay a long thin blade, the devilish serrated edge and gleaming blue handle all too familiar to her. Demon so named by her mother because it hurt like hell. She thought her mother's blade had been lost to the wilds.

Her mother. Even just saying the words in her head sounded beautiful.

Branwen picked up the familiar weight and watched it glint in the light, fastening it to her belt she tensed as she sensed an aura approach.

"You did say I would see you again," Branwen said wryly, turning round to face the giant black bear that sniffed at her and pawed the ground. Beorn stood on his hind legs and rising to almost ten feet tall he was more than double her size, yet through his slightly open jaws and twitching paws Branwen knew he was smiling. "You knew all along didn't you?" Branwen asked in exasperation, setting her hands on her hips.

Beorn landed on his front paws with a ground shaking thump and shook his black shaggy fur free of leaves and twigs. He watched her with intelligent black eyes before nudging her shoulder with his massive furry head. Branwen pressed her face into his soft fur and sucked in a steadying breath, before rubbing his snout and meeting his sparkling eyes.

"Will we make it in time?" she asked fiercely. Beorn titled his head back as roared to the smoky sky, showing his pearly white fangs before sticking his forepaw out for Branwen.

She needed no other invitation. Grabbing a fistful of his coat and leaping forward, she propelled herself onto the bears back and settled between his massive rolling shoulder blades just as Beorn reared and took off towards the smell of smoke and the distant shape of the mountain.

Branwen hunkered down, gripping the ruff of black fur on his neck and wrapped her hand tightly around Demon. She was counting the seconds until she would taste blood, until she would let out a battle cry that would make her enemies quake with fear. If she was too late to save the Company, she would make the Orcs pay in blood and bone. Her life had been leading up to this one moment. A series of inconsequential events, all bloody and violent, had been destined to make her ready for this moment, this battle which would determine the fate of Middle Earth for all time.

Branwen was ready. She had Bow's bloodlust and Damson's loyalty and Girl's savageness but most importantly she had Thorin's blood in her veins and it made her strong.

For vengeance. For Erebor. For Thorin.


	23. The Battle of the Five Armies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhh!

The enemy is coming.

The Raven king was dead but his children were still faithful to the line of Durin. The legends of old stated that ravens were an ill omen and today they had been. One lone raven flittered through the sky, batted by hurricane wind, bringing four words that could seal their doom. "The enemy is coming." It screeched as it landed on Thorin's outstretched arm.

Thorin listened and nodded sombrely before throwing it back into the air and looking down at Bard's huddled tents at the mountains base.

The mountain would be awash with blood by the time the moon rose this evening. Thorin could almost taste the anticipation on the wind. Blood was coming. Blood would soak the earth and be drank by the roots of the mountain. And the worst thing was, Thorin knew he could have prevented it.

Thorin looked away from Bard's huddle of tents and looked out of the horizon, searching for that one lone figure he wanted to see most before he died. His feelings for Bow were confused, he saw his daughter but the person before him was a mystery, she had abandoned them with a betrayer. And yet she had suffered and sacrificed for their cause, she made Thorin feel cold, cold and numb.

He closed his eyes as a gust of wind hit Thorin's face, bringing with it the smell of earth, smoke and the festering stink of Goblins.

The time had come.

Turning from his post high atop the old watch tower, Thorin went to wake the Company only to find them already awake. They were dressed in foraged armour from the skeletons of their fallen comrades in the mountain. Pale and silent, they sharpened weapons and donned lucky talismans; you could almost cut the tension with a knife. Even Dwalin sat alone, contemplating the battle to come.

"Rise my friends," Thorin said calmly, crossing his armour clad arms over his chest in resignation.

"Thorin?" Balin asked taking a step forward but Thorin held up his hand and stopped him.

"Before events unfold today, I want to let it be known: You chose to follow me as your leader because you are all honourable, loyal and have willing hearts. Together, we have overcome trials that would test even the great warriors of old and none of you ever questioned me. Even when I... you followed me no matter the consequences. And now my own pride has led us to this moment, when all our enemies converged on us," Thorin paused troubled and dragged a hand through his greying hair. "I say now that if any of you choose to turn back and escape while you still can, then there will no dishonour in that and I will not stop you."

There was a stunned silence, the only noise being the crackling fire. The Company looked at each other: Dori touched Ori's arm hopefully but Ori shook his head, Kili and Fili held themselves taller with their shoulders touching. It was Dwalin who spoke first. He had risen and was tying the last clasp of his gauntlet.

"Do you really think any of us would leave you now, after all we've been through?" he said with exasperation, thumping Thorin heavily on the shoulder. "We started this so we're gonna finish this, together as a Company."

Thorin tried to smile in thanks to the Company as they agreed with Dwalin's words, but it was half hearted and didn't meet his eyes. He'd had half a hope that they would have turned back and left him to his own fate, but they were too foolhardy and loyal for that. Thorin turned reluctantly and stared at the darkened horizon. Rolling storm clouds surged towards the mountain and blackened the sky.

"Prepare yourselves, for this will be the battle of the age."  
***  
nger fuelled her heart. It made her a force to be reckoned with. Beorn's muscles heaved rhythmically under her and she could feel his ribs rise and fall under her legs. The world whipped by her and the landscape blurred, but Branwen only had eyes for the mountain, for the blood of her kin that was being spilt.

This day would be the day that the past was reckoned.

She could smell the death in the air, it carried on a foul wind that blasted her face as Beorn leaped over a boulder and continued to tear through the black dust of the Desolation. The lower slopes of Erebor were wreathed in smoke, so Branwen could only make out the top most snow capped peak. Carron birds and vultures swooped and circled in and out of the fog, crying for fresh meat and savouring the meal to come. They circled and Branwen's stomach knotted in dread.

I will save them or I will die trying.

Beorn skidded to a halt, his breath panted and his ears twitched. "My friend we cannot afford to delay," Branwen said urgently, rubbing her hand through Beorn's warm fur. Beorn let out a low rumbling growl which stilled Branwen's hand; Beorn's ears twitched again listening intently. At first Branwen thought it was waves crashing against rocks with screaming gulls over head but the more she listened the more she heard the clash of metal and the sound of the death.

Weapons clashed, war cries were drowned out by the pleas for mercy and the thunder was like the beating hearts of the thousands of men that were dying at the foot of the mountain. Branwen's breathe died in her chest and her ribs contracted around her heart as Beorn shook himself and leaped to the top of the hill. The shape shifter rose to hind legs, Branwen wrapped her arms around his thick neck and held on with her knees as they both looked down at that battle that was unfolding.

"Aüle be merciful..." The whispered prayer escaped from her lips as horror seized Branwen's soul and squeezed.

Carnage. The nightmare was all Branwen could see, she slammed her eyes shut but it was branded on the inside of her lids. Bloody carnage.

Warg howls filled the air and Branwen's blood ran cold. A vast host of wargs and Orcs covered the horizon, dust and smoke from their heels blotted out the sun. The lower slopes of the Mountain were swarming, tiny figures seethed and surged like the maggots in a dying beast. The mountain was besieged on three fronts, goblins and orcs filled the valley, crawled over the lower pathways and completely covering the ruins of Dale. Two blocks of fighters tried to hold them off but even Branwen could see they were losing ground as the goblins steadily pushed themselves higher up the valley.

Branwen and Beorn watched as a white form pointed and urged his beast to charge the Dwarf ranks. Azog led his forces into battle, trampling all in his path.

A lone figure stood tall against the enemy, sword raised, his war cry sliced through the air and even above the roar and surge of battle Branwen could hear Thorin's voice. "To me! To me for glory and blood!" He was tall and strong as he ran alone into battle, carving a path through the goblin ranks like the true warrior he was.

Father.

"Those foul creatures have not seen hell fire as angry as me. Come Beorn we shall give them a new meaning of the word terror!" Her fury scolded, her bloodlust flooded her senses and her judgment was lost, she wanted blood, she wanted the revenge that she had hunted for so long.

Now was the time. Now was the hour that the gods had aligned and given her a glorious purpose.

Branwen grasped Demon's hilt and raised the blade to the darkened sky, letting out a savage cry in chorus with Beorn's deafening roar. The Bear threw himself forward and they charged into the back of the enemy as they rushed towards Erebor's front gate.

Branwen held tight. She saw the glint of rusty weapons and the curses that filled her ears but none seemed to matter. She couldn't think, throwing herself into the blood and death; she succumbed to battle madness, to think was to fear: Branwen couldn't afford to fear now.

Beorn's body crashed through the line of screaming orcs with a bone shaking collision that threw Branwen against his neck, snapping his jaws around their bodies and tossing goblins into the air. Branwen held on with her legs as tight as she could, pressing herself low to his back. She slashed and grabbed a goblin's helmet, using it as a club. With bared teeth, Beorn and Branwen plunged onwards, until all sides thronged with enemy, swords and axes hemmed them in but Beorn's roar rumbled through his body and into the air as he swiped his massive paw and cleaved Orcs in two.

The enemy faltered and looked to their leader for which enemy to hunt. High atop his albino Warg, Azog met Branwen's eye and snarled, he began to urge his beast towards her. Branwen laughed manically at his challenge as she skewed a pair of Orcs, Azog was coming for her, it would be finished soon. But a bellow of triumph rose from the Iron Hills troops and they renewed their efforts, baring down at the faltering goblins.

Branwen growled in frustration and, before she knew what she was doing, she leaped from Beorn's back and sprinted through the goblin army to where she had last seen Azog. Branwen was too lost in bloodlust to see the danger. She stood alone, high atop a heap of fresh corpses in the middle of the goblin charge and she screamed.

"Azog! Azog the defiler, face me and meet your doom! Or be you coward?!" Branwen laughed frenziedly, kicking a goblin in the head and adding her throne of bodies. From the two lowest slopes of the mountain, the elves and men on the west and the dwarves on the east, they were pushing the goblins back. Beorn was carving a path out of the retreating Orcs.

Catching a fallen crossbow with the toe of her boot, Branwen flicked it up and caught it, snatching a quiver and stabbing an advancing goblin in the neck with an arrow. She aimed and fired at the Wargs she could see, Azog was nowhere but she wanted to see the whites of his eyes as he died.

One by one she picked them off, enjoying the familiar weight in her hands and the look of despair on their dying faces. Branwen paused and rammed the butt of the crossbow into a goblin's face. He squealed and fell away and she continued to fire.

Suddenly Orcs gave way and surged away from her towards the east side of the valley like a herd of sheep they followed even though Bard's men were advancing down the eastern slopes.

Branwen dropped the crossbow and leaped down the pile of copses, colliding and knocking over a young male dwarf, his face white in terror under his plaited beard. He had dark haired, pale and covered in blood, humbled with his sword as he tried to gain his feet.

"What are ...you ...doing here?!" he stammered, shying away from three Orcs who advanced on them. Branwen arched Demon and blocked the young dwarf, taking off an arm and leg before slitting the others throat in an easy parry. After wiping it on her breeches, Branwen offered a bloody hand to the terrified dwarf.

"Don't worry, I am kin," she said lightly, ignoring the shrill cries of the goblins she had just maimed. The young dwarf swallowed and held on to his sword tighter.

"I am Boedain. I got cut off after the first assault. I'm not even supposed to be here, father told me to stay in the Iron Hills but I thought-"

"You're from the Iron hills? So you got my message!" Branwen exclaimed kicking a goblin in the head and stabbing him through the chest to stop its weak pleas of mercy.

"You sent the ravens? How?!" The young dwarf had to shout over the dwarves war cries. Orcs rushed towards them as the dwarf forces pursued them. The Iron Hill dwarves were advancing, and if Branwen and Boedain stayed where they were the force of the moving goblin army would have stampeded over them. When a gap opened up Branwen grabbed Boedain by the corner of his armour.

"My name is Branwen BowTraveller of Erebor and you're going to have to trust me," Branwen demanded before catching the dwarf by the hand and dragging him through the sprinting Orcs.

***  
Thorin gripped his sword, wishing he had Orchrist in his hands instead of this borrowed blade. He stared balefully at the front rank of cruel beasts that snorted and bade for their blood, cold animal eyes all hungering for his blood. Thorin could feel the presence of the Company at his back, their strength, their loyalty, their fear.

He'd led them to their doom. It was the seconds of calm before the storm. Thorin prayed for forgiveness, for his men, for Branwen, for the Hobbit. He didn't deserve to live but his Company didn't deserve to die.

Thorin felt Fili shiver next to him and he drew out of the eery calm. He put a hand on his nephews shoulder and thought back to the moment of his birth where he had held the tiny Dwarrow for the first time. So small, so strong, Thorin had never told him how much he cared for him before.

"Fili, you have made me so proud, don't ever forget that. You will make a far better king than I ever could," Thorin said quietly in a hushed voice so Fili was the only one to hear. The young prince's pale blue eyes went wide and his mouth opened, but before any words could escape his throat, Thorin raised his sword and marched on to the battle field.

His head held high and his dark hair blowing in the faint smoky wind, Thorin stood alone against all the forces of evil and darkness. His blade glinted like a beacon of light as he watched Azog emerge from within goblin army, flanked by dozens of his lethal bodyguard. Thorin was alone facing down the pale Orc. He waited for a heartbeat, then a minute, drawing strength from the mountain beneath his feet. Then Thorin let his voice ring out.

"For Aüle and for the mountain! To me! To me for glory and blood!"  
****  
Her kin.

Armoured and deadly, dwarves with black beards, faces half hidden by iron helms and armour, huddled in ranks of twenty dwarves deep. Shoulder to shoulder, Branwen stood two lines from the front with her kin and her comrades in arms from the Iron Hills. Some were already injured, lines of blood dripping from underneath their armour, but still they waited for the enemy. The endless line of Goblins that had washed over the first wave of Dwarf infantry, was now heading directly towards them, drawing ever closer as the seconds passed by.

Each second they drew closer to oblivion. Each passing second Branwen could see the dark cloak of death descending.

Boedain hid his trembling hands by tightening his sword belt, but Branwen had seen the movement on Bilbo and recognised his fear. She rested her hand on the young dwarf's forearm and stilled his shaking. "It is fine to be scared, for without fear there cannot be bravery," she said reassuringly, meeting the dwarf's dark brown eyes.

Boedain swallowed heavily and rolled his broad shoulders haughtily. "Dwarves don't feel fear, it is dishonourable," he said with indignation but was betrayed by the cold sweat that formed on his brow.

At his words, Sight flashed across Branwen's eyes and she saw the soldiers truly for the first time, terrified warriors not allowed to voice their fear in case of disgrace, lost without a captain and ready to shatter as soon as the first Goblin struck. They would be trampled into the ground if Branwen didn't do something but what?

Panic swelled through her as the enemy charged ever closer. What would Thorin do?!

Some shot her astonished glances and some tried to shout at her but Branwen ignored them as she shoved her way through the front ranks. She embraced what she was, a ruler, an heir, a princess and a leader: their leader.

"We must keep this line! Hold this line, hold and don't give them an inch!" Branwen ordered boldly, pacing the frontline and glaring at each dwarf individually. They said nothing but listened intently. All the while, Branwen was aware of the approaching enemy. "Lock shields! All of you lock shields you sons of stone!" she bellowed so that her voice carried to the back, somewhere she heard Boedain relay her order.

The ground began to shake underneath her feet and Branwen closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath before turning and facing the enemy. Someone shouted that she needed to get back but she ignored them. She straightened her spine defiantly and let her voice give her comrades the courage they needed: like Thorin would have done.

"My brave comrades, my warriors of Iron! You stand on the brink of annihilation. You stand against all the forces of evil that would steal the mountain from our race!" Her voice echoed off the mountain itself and rose over the pounding of enemy feet. Branwen could smell their foul stench. "Goblins are the forces of evil seeking to plunge all we hold dear into chaos. We are dwarves of Earth, made stronger than stone and tougher than diamond." Branwen dropped into combat stance and held Demon tight by her side, she could make out their snarling faces and snouts. "We are the Iron that would pierce evil's shield and flesh. We are not Elves of the forest! Nor are we Men of the field!"

With the clink of armour and rattle of shield she heard dwarf army digging in their heels. Looking back along the line with pride, Branwen felt the power in their fierce glares and the thunderous banging of swords against their shields.

"We are the dwarves of Iron, as Aüle intended!" The dwarf army roared in agreement and stomped their armour clad feet against the mountain. Branwen ground her teeth together and picked her first victims, she could see the whites of their eyes gleaming under red pupils. The Orcs were yards away and they raised their weapons and bore down upon them. "Now let's give them hell!"

As her words left her body, the first wave hit, she was thrown backwards and pinned against the shield of her Kin. The air was punched out of her lungs and for a sickening second all she could see was the grimy jaws that were coming towards her. She stabbed the beast trying to rip out her throat, her lack of armour helped her slide under his guard and sink her blade into his ribs. Branwen pushed his limp body behind her and sank to the ground, snaking her way through the legs of the enemy.

She jumped to her feet and dared to take a backward glance. The dwarves were holding for now, the western pass was secure so Bard couldn't be out flanked. A smile sprang on her lips when she saw Boedain blaring orders and the army rallying around him.

Whirling, she searched the battle field for any sign of Thorin. The clouds parted and moonlight illuminated the great door of Erebor, as Branwen stared into the distance a massive figure rose up. Standing taller than eight feet and pointing his sword wreathed in flame, Branwen would have recognised the god anywhere, Aüle stared at her and beckoned. Without a moment's thought she sprinted to where the fighting was thickest, into the breast of Erebor, on the very steps of her doors. And she ran, Branwen ran until her lungs burned for air but she kept running, without care or concern, she had to get to Thorin.

"Down you fools!" From high atop a boulder to Branwen's right, Gandalf's voice boomed over the killing field. She whirled and saw him fighting back to back with a beautiful female elf, clad in silver armour and a two long curved blades. She was probably the most beautiful creature Branwen had ever seen. But she had no time to think on this, from out of nowhere the moon was blocked out and the world was plunged into darkness, only filled with the sound of rushing air and the dying. Instinctively, Branwen grabbed a nearby goblin by his shoulders and pulled him backwards over her. He shrieked and wriggled wildly, Branwen flinched as the Night arrows pierced through his back millimetres from her face.

Branwen waited for a moment before tossing the body away and arrows littered the ground like dry leaves, and the dead and dying alike were pierced by their dark Fletchers. Pausing briefly, she pulled one out of a man's corpse and examined its tip. Black flint and maple: Thrandruil. The Mirkwood elves were charging down the Eastern slope pushing back the Wargs assault.

From out of nowhere, something massive collided with Branwen, tossing her into the air. Landing heavily against the corpse of a Warg, her lungs stung and she had to throw herself out of the way as a Mountain Troll smashed its mace down, nearly ripping the body of the Warg in two. Standing nearly twelve feet tall, it was smaller than the Cave trolls, but Branwen didn't wait to find out if it was as deadly; bouncing on the balls of her feet, she dashed forwards as the ugly beast raised his vicious mace again. Ducking under its guard, she leaped, soaring forwards and stuck Demon deep within its gut. The animal screamed and staggered, waving the mace about its head. Branwen hurled herself out of the way as the weapon smashed into the ground at her feet. But the world spun in a blur of pain and bone shaking power as she was caught by the creature's terrible upper cut.

She saw stars and felt hot wetness down her face, Demon left her hand. Blackness dimmed her vision and for a terrible minute all she could she was the malevolent eyes of the Troll baring down on her with its dying breath. But out of the blackness came a booming roar and a blur of wild red hair. Gloin sank his blade into the animal's side just as it raised its arm to land the final blow. The animal began to sway as Gloin slashed into the beast's side. Branwen could see what was coming and began to crawl on her belly as fast as she could. From behind her she heard the mace thump on the ground and Gloin let out a triumphant cheer as the Troll's body crashed to the floor, just catching Branwen's foot with his grey lifeless shoulder.

But she doesn't feel the pain. All five armies are converging on the gates now, Bard's men streaming down the trails and eastern tip, Thrandruil and Beorn were pressing the Goblin infantry in from the ruins of Dale, Dain's dwarves were holding fast and pushing the Orcs back from the west. The Goblins would be trapped against the walls of the mountain. At the Great Gates Azog the defiler was making his last stand.

Branwen watched as horror gripped her heart and froze the blood in her veins. Standing silhouetted against the fire and the smoke, Azog stood at the top of Erebor's steps, his mace raised in triumph and Thorin on his knees at his feet.

Kili and Fili lay lifeless on the steps.  
*****  
Their weapons lay forgotten: Azog's mace had fallen at his feet and Thorin's sword stuck out of Azog's albino warg's chest. Their fingers entwined and their faces inches from each other, teeth bared with determination as they tried to overpower the enemy.

"You shall not win, little King," Azog growled in faltering common tongue, licking blood off his chin. Thorin's eyes widened in shock as Azog caught his neck in a vice like grip and yanking his body into the air. For a heartbeat, Thorin could see the entire battlefield and the tiny figures struggling over it like ants, but then the polished steps came to meet as and Azog flung Thorin down as if he were a rag doll. The Pale Orc grinned , enjoying how Thorin gasped in pain, before dropping to his knees and slowly, deliberately, plunging his claw hand deep into Thorin's shoulder: savouring how Thorin's face contorted in agony.

Thorin tried to grab Azog and push him away but, with every cruel twist, the claw's spike sank ever deeper until it grated against bone. Noises were far away and distant. Through half lidded eyes Thorin could see Azog's leering face and evil , with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Thorin heard two familiar voices.

"Thorin, no!"

"Leave him!" Kili and Fili's voices were distant but so close, so full of youth and strength and bravery.

Azog laughed with a manic glint in his black eyes as he pulled Thorin to his knees and grabbing a fistful of his greying hair, making him watch as Azog's bodyguards charged at the princes. Kili let out a blood curdling scream that stabbed at Thorin's heart as one of the massive bodyguard drove his sword deep into Kili's hip. He buckled and fell to his knees, managing to stab the guard through the stomach with the last of his strength.

Fili screamed his brother's name and shoved his way to Kili's side, catching him as he fell backwards into his arms. The brothers cradled each other and whispered words that Thorin couldn't hear. Kili raised a trembling hand and brushed lock of golden hair out of Fili's eyes, leaving a tear shaped bloody smear down his face.

Thorin tried to pull his body away from Azog's grip but the Pale Orc hauled him back and snarled orders that Thorin couldn't understand. His bodyguard laughed and hauled the brothers to their feet. Fili fought like a wild animal, throwing all his strength at the hands holding him but the Orc snarled and slammed his dagger into Fili's lower back. He froze, the scream of pain died in his throat, leaving his mouth to fall open in shock.

Fili went rigid, his face went empty and his fists loosely clenched, then he sank to his knees and did not move.

Kili cried his brother's name, sweat and tears mixing with the blood and the dirt of battle as the two were thrown down at Azog's feet. Azog laughed cruelly as Kili crawled to Fili's side and tried to wake him, stroking his hands over his brother's lifeless face and shaking at his shoulder.

Thorin couldn't breathe. His lungs refused to respond, it was as if the world was collapsing in front of his eyes and he could do nothing to stop it from falling.

Azog pulled his face up to meet his eyes. The black irises danced with insanity and evil. He growled menacingly and bared his pointed teeth , then called to his guard who roared in triumph. Dozens converged and blocked his nephews from view, but he heard the sound of metal against bone and the sound of tearing flesh; again and again and again and again until a scarlet path of blood washed down the steps of Erebor.

Kili...Fili... Their nameswere the only words that whispered through Thorin's skull like he couldn't comprehend their meaning.

The heirs of Durin were dead, slaughtered like animals. Thorin's only reason for living was now gone. Nothing mattered; not the mountain, not the gold, not even the blood streaming down Thorin's shoulder. All that mattered in those seconds was Azog's life being squeezed out of his body.

Thorin launched himself at Azog, kicking the Orc'c feet from under him and pinning him down with his knees on his chest, pressing his weight down on his windpipe. Azog snarled and clawed at Thorin with his spiked stump, ripping his face and already tattered shoulder. But with every ounce of pain, Thorin pushed harder: the pain made it raw and real and helped the hatred flow through him. Azog's claw caught the side of Thorin's armour and threw his body free.

They struggled to their feet at the same time, blood gushing from Thorin's shoulder and Azog sucking air through his jagged teeth. Just as Thorin rose, Azog's fingers closed around his mace and he roared, drawing his body its full height. Azog swung his mace with all his strength and ferocity.

Thorin watched in slow motion as the mace came towards him. He felt air leave his lungs and hot liquid spill down his side and onto his fingers. He turned his head away from Azog's victorious bellow and looked down at the gaping wound of his chest.

In a daze he looked at the ragged remains of his left bicep, tattered muscle and sparks shooting in front of his eyes. Somewhere in the distance he heard his name called and looked up to see a familiar face, sprinting towards him through the crowd of surging bodies.

"Lif," the name crept from his lips as blood cascaded down Thorin's chin. Lif was there, she was with him.

Thorin closed his eyes to the horror of the battle field and let warmth surround him, he felt himself fall and welcomed the blackness that overcame him.

Lif was with him, his Soulmate was with him at the last.  
****  
Azog's mace came down and Branwen watched in horror as it tore through Thorin's body, sending a wide arch of scarlet spray flying through the air. Her voice died in her throat. She felt her heart falter and her mouth fill with blood as she bit down on her tongue. Braced on her hands and knees, Branwen watched Thorin fall.

She tried to stand but her body wouldn't respond, she grasped around for something to pull her up but she had to shield her eyes as a burst of light blinded her. In a shimmer of golden light Demon fall into her waiting palms, she stared at the delicate blue handle and gleaming blade as if it was welcoming home an old friend. Then, not giving her time to question, Aüle stepped into her vision and placed his strong worn hand to her forehead. The Great Smith sent his godlike power coursing through her and giving power to her muscles, he sent images of her father flying through her mind; rocking her to sleep in his arms, singing, laughing, burning dolls as his face hardened like stone. Her Father. It reminded her of her purpose, her destiny, who she was and who she was meant to be.

"Beorn! To The King! To Thorin!" Branwen screamed, hoping beyond hope that the great bear had heard her above the chaos of battle.

Raising Demon above her head, Branwen propelled herself off the back of an Orc and launched herself into the air towards Azog. The pale Orc barely had time to raise his claw as her boots landed on his neck. They both went down. Instinctively Branwen rolled away onto her feet and pivoted to meet Azog again, her sword held close to her side.

Azog's bodyguard made to engage her but Azog snarled and pointed his mace at her. "I shall feast on your body!" Azog sneered darkly in Common Tongue, his voice thickly accented.

"That's where you're wrong," Branwen challenged, feigning a jab at Azog making him stumble back as Beorn skidded to a halt on the steps and lowered his body protectively over Thorin. The Great Bear snarled and roared, sweeping Thorin to his furry chest and swiping away Azog's advancing bodyguard as easily as if they were flys, before leaping down the steps and disappearing amongst the frenzied battle.

Branwen smiled as the shapeshifter disappeared with the King. She trusted Beorn to protect Thorin, and she knew he would do all he could and that Thorin wouldn't go without a fight.

Drawing herself to her full height, Branwen rolled her shoulders and clicked her neck, strengthening her grip on Demon and smiled warmly making Azog falter.

"You may remember my face but not my name. I was Bow Traveller when we first met but no longer. Mark my words well Azog the Defiler. I am Branwen BowTraveller, daughter of Thorin Oakenshield and Lifthrasir Priestess of Muninn; Heir to the line of Durin, protector to the house of Numenor, elf friend and bear rider." She watched with mirth as Azog's eyes grew wide and his lipless mouth fell open. "I am the slayer of Bolg!" Branwen dragged a hand threw her hair, never breaking eye contact with the giant Orc. "And I do not fear you!"

Azog pulled his thin lips back over his teeth and let bloody drool run between his fangs. "Then the line of Durin shall end now!" Azog swung his mace in a great arc, but Branwen leaned back until her spine felt like it would snap and watched the weapon pass over her. She planted Demon deep in the ground and snap kicked Azog in the face. A cut burst open over his eyebrow and he stumbled backwards, giving Branwen time to right herself. Dragging a discarded shield from a corpse beside her and holding it to her side she dropped into a low fighting stance and waited for Azog's next move.

Azog swung again. This time, Branwen caught the blow with her sword, sending shockwaves down her arm, and made to thrust the edge into his exposed neck. But Azog knocked his claw under the shield and twisted until Branwen's wrist threatened to snap.

Snarling in annoyance, Branwen released the shield and stepped away, blocking as Azog tossed the shield at her and charged again. The mace swung down and caught on Demon's serrated edge, bunching his thick biceps Azog pressed down on the weapon and Branwen felt her knees buckle under the weight. In a rash move she took a step back and threw Azog off balance, but the Orc saw this and released the mace, grabbing her by the throat. The mace and Demon fell to the floor as Azog lifted Branwen into the air, she kicked and gasped but nothing it seemed could make him release her. Her eyesight flickered and Azog chuckled darkly as her head began to loll.

Suddenly, Azog threw his head back a screamed to the sky in pure agony, falling to his knees as blood spurted from the back of his ankles. Branwen dropped like a stone and gasped for air, soothing the skin of her throat with her hands. In the back of her mind, she knew that the figure standing behind Azog was no hallucination, but she still questioned how.

Bilbo stood tall, bloodied sword raised, face curled with hate and vengeance. He looked from Azog then to Branwen and nodded. They shared an understanding before the Hobbit vanished into the air: Azog was her duty to end.

Branwen was on her feet before she knew what was happening, she whirled and stamped on Azog's clawed stump, shattering the horn into pieces. Azog screamed in pain and held the stump close to his chest. She took her time picking up Demon and wiping the bloodied edge on her sleeve while Azog called for his guard, but no one heard, it was as if the battle field was empty and only they clashed.

Feebly, the Great Pale Orc tried to reach the handle of his mace but Branwen grabbed his wrist and held it tight; planting her boot on his shoulder. Understanding dawned on Azog but it was already too late, Demon winked at him in the moonlight as it sliced down towards him. Branwen twisted and hacked until bone cracked and the pale limb came off in her hands, she tossed it over her shoulder and watched with cold enjoyment as Azog flopped bleeding on the ground.

A smile broke on her lips as her boot pressed down onto Azog's neck. The beast made a wheezing noise and his eyes bulged, watching her behind his pain. She lowered her blade and paraded it in front of his eyes.

"Remember this blade Azog, for it will be the last thing you will ever see," Branwen said dangerously, as she altered her grip and pressed the tip against the Orc's heart, just enough to break through muscle but not enough to kill him. Blood ran down his chest and onto his torso, as he struggled weakly to free himself. She pulled back the blade and watched as he panted. "That was for Thorin," she stated coldly, then replaced her boot with Demon's serrated edge. Azog went very still, he jutted out his chin and locked cold eyes with her. Branwen waited a heartbeat, waited to feel the sense of pain and failure to lessen, but it didn't.

"Thorin son of Thrain will die, and I will feast on his corpse in hell," Azog breathed poisonously through clenched teeth, spit on the side of his mouth mixing with the sweat of his pale skin, his black eyes board into hers as if daring her; daring her to make a move.

"And this is for my Grandfather." Her blade sliced with sickening ease through flesh and sinew and bone. The spinal column snapped and the tendons slid away under the swords serrated edge. A coldness spread through her as she speared Azog's dismembered head on the end of Demon and looked at the snarling face. Azog's tongue lolled out of the lifeless mouth and the mad fires of his eyes died.

Branwen shivered with twisted pleasure and raised the impaled head into the air.

"Azog the defiler is no more!" She let her voice ring out over the battle and all fell still. Not even a vulture called or Warg howled. Thousands of eyes from every corner of the battle field turned and watched the tiny figure holding the tiny head. No one spoke and no one moved, the silence stretched until Branwen couldn't take it. She searched for Dwalin, for Bofur, for someone to offer her comfort. She found Gandalf's eyes, lighting blue in a blood and smoke covered face. He smiled weakly and nodded encouragement.

"For vengeance! For Erebor and for Thorin!" Using the last of her strength, she grabbed the head and hurled it into the horde of elves, dwarves, men, Orcs and goblins. Her great cry seemed to shatter the calm like a hammer would crystal. All hell broke loose.

Orcs and Goblin threw down their weapons and ran for their lives. Warg's trampled their owners and dragged their last kill away with them. Elves fell back into ranks and waited for orders. From the western edge of the battle field screams filled the air as dozens a giant golden eagles dragged their claws along the ground and carved a path through the goblins fleeing army. The Iron Hills' army roared in victory and gave chase to the fleeing Orcs, blood drunk on their victory.

Branwen saw Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, battle stained and battered, embrace each other in relief. She could see no other members of the Company but riotous celebration and triumph washed over the entire mountain like a wave.

They had somehow managed to win. But for Branwen it was a hollow victory. Overwhelmed, she felt the strength leave her. She sank to her knees and even in the darkness of her closed eyes she could see the faces of the dead and dying. An exhausted sob caught in her throat and she shook as she tried to suppress it until she felt strong sweaty arms wrap around her.

"You did well less, you did well," Dwalin's husky voice said with a sigh, he smoothed down her hair and held her close. Drawing back into memories of her childhood, Branwen held the fur trim of his collar and pressed her head against his warm chest.

Branwen held her Godfather for the first time in over a century, his voice, his smell, she was reunited with her old warrior: she allowed tears to fall down her cheeks as snow drifted down from the darkened sky and covered the blank faces of the dead.


	24. The Aftermath

Old friends

And that was the story of how Bow the Traveller died. The bloodlust and the savagery and the chilling inward fear that plagued her dreams, shrivelled and the blood oath that had carried her through the nights had disappeared.

It was Branwen who now lay in the shelter of Dwalin's arms, safe in the knowledge that she had stood and fought for what was right, even if she no longer had a place in Thorin's heart as his daughter, her mother would have been proud.

She shook snow from her hair and tried to clear her thoughts, thinking practically for a moment. The battle was won but the war was far from over. Branwen tapped Dwalin's forearm and drew reluctantly away from his warmth. Her battered bones ached with cold, blood dried down the side of her face from her temple, and her knuckles were raw and bloody.

Dwalin cupped her cheek and tilted her head to the dawn that had risen on the horizon. "Its stopped bleeding but it's terrible deep; you should go to Oin as soon as you can," Dwalin said in a hoarse voice, his throat raw from smoke and his loud battle cries. Branwen smiled weakly as she pulled his hand gently away from her face.

"No Dwala, Oin will have to deal with much worse than this. Many hundreds will be injured and he will have enough to deal with," Branwen said regretfully giving Dwalin's hand a reassuring squeeze before turning and casting a solemn eye over the chaos of the battle field. Smoke rose lazily from fire arrows and the cries of the dying diminished with every passing second.

"What did you call me?" Dwalin asked from behind her in a hushed voice. Branwen half turned to him, her hands on her hips, unable to keep the broad smile off her face.

"I called you Dwala. When I was a Dwarrow I couldn't pronounce your name properly but I didn't want Thorin- Father, to know I could talk because I didn't want lessons. It was our secret,"- Branwen began but Dwalin wiped his dirty hand over his tired face and his eyes twinkled as he smiled.

"- And you made me promise not to tell anyone. You were stubborn that I wasn't to tell even Thorin or Lif." Dwalin chuckled at the memory, his eyes growing wet and he rubbed at them with the back of his hand.

"Especially not mother or father, we swore an oath," Branwen finished, a satisfied warmth growing in her chest at the memory that had remained hidden for so long.

"But how did you... I thought you knew nothing of your old life," Dwalin asked astounded. Branwen regarded her old friend for a moment. The truth was so unbelievable, so completely outlandish that if she hadn't have witnessed it with her own eyes she would never believe. Struggling to find the right words, Branwen thought of the best way to skirt round her dealings with Aüle.

"Something broke in me when I ran from the mountain. A wall that had been forged in the bloody war I waged to survive, broke, and shattered in to a thousand tiny pieces. But it showed me what was behind the wall and released what had been caged for far too long," Branwen explained as best she could, knowing that she would never tell the true story of the Water of Memory or having her mind crammed into her Dwarrow's body.

They stood for a moment and stared at each other before Branwen stretched on to her tip toes and pressed her forehead against Dwalin's, breathing in his scent of leather and pine and musk of battle - it was beautiful in its familiarity. Then reluctantly, she pulled herself back and descended the bloodied steps of Erebor.

"Now enough of this sentimental talk, there is much to be done and the longer we take to do it the more lives it will cost us," Branwen said clearing her throat. Dwalin and Branwen picked their way down the steps and began to zigzag between the bodies of Azog's guard. Snow was falling in thick flurries now, seeming to cover the corpse in a death shroud of white lace.

"First we must round up Bard, Dain and Thrandruil and get them to claim their dead. The longer we leave them, the more it will attract scavengers and dieses," Branwen said practically, ticking a mental list off in her head but Dwalin took her elbow and turned her, "Then we-"

"You should go to Thorin first," Dwalin declared plainly, not bothering to sugar coat his words.

Branwen's heart missed a beat. It was absurd, she had done battle, defeated the enemy, treated with gods and dragons, yet she still feared her father's wrath.

"No, he will... The people need more care at this moment in time. I'm sure Beorn is nursing him as we speak. The King is nothing without his people and now the people are the most in danger." It was a weak excuse, and Branwen knew Dwalin saw through her words, but he didn't press her. Branwen hid behind her own words. She longed more than anything to see her Father but what if? What if he would caste her out into the wilderness, forever alone once again...

She awoke from her dark ponderings to find Dwalin regarding her with a smile. "That was spoken like ..." he floundered for words for a moment.

"Like what? Like a princess?" Branwen retorted sarcastically.

"No, like your mother." Dwalin's voice was so level and sure that it was almost disconcerting, Branwen didn't know how to respond. Her mouth opened and she gaped at Dwalin before swallowing a dry lump in her throat. The she marched away, stepping over bodies with the sound of Dwalin's footsteps following.

"Smuag needs to be informed. In the meantime, would you be so kind as to find the Company. I would like to know they are all safe before I try to sort out the rest of this mess. Then to Bard, Dain and Thrandruil, say to them that Thorin asks politely collect their dead," Branwen commented practically before stooping to check the pulse of an elf.

"But you have every right-" Dwalin began to argue but was silenced as Branwen snapped to her feet.

"I am nobody Dwalin, Thorin never mentioned me outside the Company and I would not usurp his authority by pretending it is my right to take his power from him. I am only thinking logically what needs to be done. Now if you prefer you can go inform Smuag and I'll find Thrandruil, it's your choice," Branwen said matter-of-factly, watching with amusement as Dwalin glanced warily up at the mountain, then without so much as a word turned and marched towards a group of elves milling near the ruins of Dale.

Branwen wiped her hands over her exhausted face and began the long hard climb up to the secret door. The Great Doors had been sealed more than a century ago, but before midday dawned they would be opened for the first time in over a hundred years.  
****  
Warnings

"You have the stink of the Valaaaarrrr on youuuu. Tell me, why does a dwarf entreat with the goddddsss?" Smuag sneeringly echoed around the great chamber, as Branwen slowly descended the great staircase. She was exhausted and too overwhelmed by the nights events to rise to his challenge.

"And there I thought I smelt like blood and sweat," Branwen retorted mildly, scaling the great pile of treasure chests he used as a pillow. Smuag blew a great cloud of smoke at her, making her have to wave her hands in front of her eyes to see. "We have carried a great victory but it was hard fought," Branwen began.

"I care not for blood and battles, I have seen too much for one for one to taaaaake," Smuag lowered his massive head to his golden and closed his eyes as if in sleep. "But I see othersssss trouble you, Branwennnnnn daughter of Thorin Oakenshieeeld."

Branwen bristled at the idea of him knowing all along and not mentioning but refused to argue with the great beast, Smuag flicked his forked tongue out in amusement.

"A great many have lost their homes and come to the mountain seeking winter refuge. I humbly request that we may open the gates and allow; men of Laketown, Ironfoots and the Elves of Mirkwood safe housing,"-

"You ask, when you have every right to taaaake," asked Smuag quizzically, only bothering to open one eye.

"I could take but I would not dishonour or disrespect your council Old one," Branwen defended herself with indignation. He may be a dragon, but he was intelligent and wise; this was his home as much as theirs. He'd allowed them to make peace and he'd signed an official contract.

Smaug's snout curled a little but Branwen couldn't discern his expression, closing his eye, the dragon tucked his head down into his nest of coins. "The lower mead hall and the council chambers are inhabitable and I think suiteeeed. It will keep them in the Western side of the mountain until arrangements can be maaaade."

Branwen nodded her thanks and decided to leave the dragon to his slumber, as she turned to go Smuag raised his massive head suddenly and stared down at her with horrifying intensity. "The Thief is lost amid the wandering spirits, but their souls are already gone and cannot be stoleeennnnn."

Deep and rumbling, his word were heavy with warning, Branwen knew little about souls but understood enough of his riddle: Find Bilbo.  
****

Tactics

"Has anyone seen a Halfling?! He has curly hair, shoulder height, tattered waistcoat, massive feet?" Branwen asked a group of Dain's soldiers urgently. Dotted outside the ruins of Dale were tiny camps and rows upon rows of soldiers tents, hastily put up and with little organisation. They shook their heads and returned their empty gazes to the camp fire.

Branwen moved on, scurrying fire to fire, searching though exhausted weighed down her limbs. "A what?" a Laketown man snapped as he had his head wrapped in a thick white bandage.

"A hobbit. About four feet tall, curly hair, massive feet," Branwen told the man, nervous energy making her stomach roll with nausea.

"Can't say that I have. You, Fleans?" the injured man asked his Healer.

"Not that I can recall but if you're looking for someone tall dark and handsome, I can do for..." Branwen punched the Healer in the gut before stalking away.

She had seen him! She was certain, Bilbo had hamstringed Azog and stared at her before disappearing. Surely he had not left for the Shire. But everywhere she looked the Hobbits fate seemed to get poorer and poorer.

Though the elves had rallied and set up a medical bay, the walking wounded and dying laid were everywhere Branwen looked. It was chaos: Children screamed for their mothers and mothers screamed for their husbands they would never see again.

This was one thing Bow had never experienced, the aftermath, the repercussions that echoed through the family down to the bare bones. She had never stuck around to see what her actions caused, but Branwen was learning quickly that all consequences were bitter.

Branwen's head snapped around as she heard her name being shouted. Dwalin emerged from the crowd, flanked by a very bedraggled looking Company with the exception of Oin. She let out a long breath that she hadn't realised she had been holding.

They were a sight for sore eyes. Nori was limping badly with a bloody bandage wrapped round his thigh, Dori was fussing Ori whose right arm was wrapped in a sling with a crutch tucked under his other arm, Bofur had a bad cut down his cheek and Bifur was slumped to one side, Branwen guessed with broken ribs. But all things considered, they seemed well .

"My friends... it is good to see you are alive." She smiled at them individually, struggling to form words as a warm burning feeling spread through her chest. The Company chuckled, breaking the uncomfortable silence when Balin stepped forward and knelt at her feet.

"My Princess, we are at your service," his voice was fierce and determined, the others made to do the same but Branwen waved her hands in panic.

"No, no, do not kneel. There is no need," Branwen protested with embarrassment

"But you are the line of Durin, royal blood..." Balin said peevishly as Branwen put her hands on Balin shoulders and helped the old dwarf to his feet.

"You befriended a wilding who happened to know a quick way to the mountain and I would like to keep it that way. Besides there is too much to be done, ceremony makes things much longer," Branwen reassured him mildly, smirking as the old bureaucrat hummed loudly. The rest of the Company seemed thankful, Dwalin was a warm comforting presence at her side as they turned and began to make their way down the main street of the Dale ruins, keeping the pace slow as exhaustion set into all of them.

"I have sent for Bard, Dain and Thrandruil as you requested, they will meet outside Thorin's tent," Dwalin told her stiffly.

"Right then, when Thorin's better he'll no doubt appoint his own council but to stop Dain trying to take over as he no doubt will, I suggest that Company as a whole takes charge." Branwen declared loudly, the Company began to murmur at her words. They paused for a moment as a group of elves carrying a tent blocked their path.

"Balin, we need to find out what resources and stores we have and how long they will last. Winter is fast approaching and we need to know what kind of numbers we need to provide for. Nori, I believe you have network contacts, can you see what supplies you can dig up," Balin nodded grimly and stroked his white beard in deep thought, Nori puffed out his chest proudly .

"Gloin and Bifur, we need perimeter defences and scouts in case of a counter attack. Beorn will help and I'll see Dain and Thrandruil do too," Branwen paused to take a breath and caught an approving look off Dwalin. The elves finally moved and they continued on their way.

"Bofur, take as many dwarves as you can find and prepare the lower mead hall and the council chambers –"

"Whatever for?" Bofur exclaimed, pushing himself to Branwen's side.

"We need to put all these people somewhere. Smuag believes that the halls are stable enough. We can't have the injured out here in the snow for long," she snapped matter-of-factly, stepping over a large boulder that lay in the middle of the path.

"But the doors are locked and we can't get them through Rook," Bofur said in exasperation, wiping blood out of his eye with the back of his grimy sleeve.

"From my understanding, the doors are only locked from the outside,..." Branwen said slowly, waiting for the penny to drop.

"Ah..." was the only thing Bofur said before the dwarf fell back in line with the others.

"Bombur, once Balin has numbers, look at the food supply. For the time being, salvage what you can. Get some Laketowners to help. I'm sure once Thorin is up he'll send for supplies from some of the other clans..." Branwen's words trailed off when she heard the shaky intakes of breath and choked sobs, turning she saw the grey looks on their faces. "What in Durin's name is the matter, you wouldn't think we'd just won a battle or anything?" she snapped, putting her hands on her hips but sobered quickly as Nori limped forward, his head bowed and his starfish hair flattened.

"Thorin's...you say he'll get better lass, but 'e'..." His voice was thick and husky, he swallowed loudly.

"But it was just a flesh wound, he's one of the strongest dwarves I know," she tried to convince herself. Dwalin put his hand on her shoulder and Branwen instinctively squeezed it for reassurance. Gloin stepped forward, looking pale under his flaming hair.

"Oin fears..." the warrior swallowed and brushed impatiently at his eyes. "Oin fears he will not live out the morning,"

Branwen felt the earth tilt dangerously under her feet and a great weight pressed down on her ribs. A dry ache formed in the back of her neck and her gut turned into lead. "Have you seen him?" she heard herself asked. The Company nodded slowly but refused to meet her eyes.

"He is fading fast lass, he's not really seeing us," Gloin mumbled softly, shaking his head and studying the ground.

"Did he ask for me?" Branwen asked, dread and pain welling in her heart.

"It is not a sight for children," Gloin said mournfully, giving her a sympathetic look.

"I am not a child!" Branwen retorted dangerously in no mood to be mollycoddled.

"No, you are not but I would not want my Gimli to see his Father's broken body as he died. That should not be his last memory and it should not be yours." Gloin stepped forward and looked down at her earnestly, resting his hands onto of his bloodied axe.

Branwen took a deep breath and tried to drag her fingers through her hair, but it was mattered with thick dried blood. After staring at the ground for a moment, she turned to Balin. She knew she would get a answer out of him whether she wanted to or not.

"How at risk is he?" she asked, keeping her voice void of emotion.

"It's not looking hopeful. He's lost his will to fight with the youngun's...with Kili and Fili..." His voice choked and Balin pressed his face into Dori's shoulder.

Branwen considered her words very carefully, "Thorin and me did not part on the best of terms." She paused and gathered strength, steadying herself. "I know I abandoned you and I know I have no right to ask it but, I would ask that you come with me, for company and advice and I don't know the way..." Nerves got the better of her and she rambled until Ori jumped in.

"You may ask anything of us, we are your Company as much as Thorin's," Ori assured fervently, his beady black eyes shining like fireflies in a darkened sky.

A lump in her throat prevented her from speaking so she inclined her head in thanks and followed behind them at a distance. Dwalin remained at her side, like a warm thick blanket and Branwen was beginning to understand the comfort having those strong arms at her back felt like. Strong and capable and constant, like when she would leap into his arms and would always be there to catch her. It was a new experience for Branwen but it was a pleasant one.

Crowds of refugees parted and seemed to cower back as the Company made their way through the ruins of Dale to the very center of the old town. Thorin's tent was made of white Elvin cloth with gold stitching, Branwen smiled to think what Thorin would say when he found out.

But they stopped abruptly by a large group of Ironfoots, who were milling outside the tent. Branwen tensed as the Ironfoots lumbered to their feet and took hold of their weapons, drawing herself to her full height she pushed through the Company and stood before the superior officer.

"What is the meaning of this?" Branwen demanded as the officer blocked her path by shoving his spear across her chest.

"King Dain of the Ironhills is in conference with Thorin Oakenshield," the guard barked in a soldiers clipped tone.

"Thorin is in no fit state to be in council with anyone at the moment, let alone with Dain," Balin declared pushing his way after Branwen. Just then a dwarf dressed in rich purples robes pushed the flaps of the tent aside and stuck his head out, eying them reproachfully.

"King Dain need contracts signed and deeds completed if he's to take control of proceedings while King Thorin is indisposed. And we do not wished to be disturbed," the dwarf snapped haughtily. Just as he went into the tent Branwen shoved passed the guard and grabbed the pompous dwarf by the beard, pulling his squirming face under her eyes and pulling her lips back in distain.

"How dare you try and steal his kingdom from under him! Laying with injuries from battle, you should be ashamed of yourself," Branwen growled, seething with deadly anger.

"What is the meaning of all this shouting, and who dares call Dain a Thief?" a great booming voice called from inside the tent. The curtains were thrown back and a large shaggy haired dwarf with shocking streaks of grey running through his beard appeared.

Branwen straightened her back and stared defiantly at Dain. "I do! You dare try and manipulate the king when he lays half dead."

"I am not trying to manipulate anyone! I am doing what is right and taking control before this situation gets worse than it already is!" Dain bellowed and his men grew tenser, resting their hands on their weapons.

"This is why you should let us do our job. The Company have managed so far without your help and conspiracies. Now let me in. I demand to see Thorin!" Branwen barked, seething with anger, her fists clenched tight at her side. Dain took a step toward her and glowering down at her. She felt the Company stiffen and Dwalin visibly tense.

"And why should I? By all accounts the great Bow Traveller abandoned Thorin when his need was greatest," Dain growled darkly, jutting his ratty face towards her face.

"So sayeth Dain, the king and kin who didn't lift a finger when all odds were against the Company it was our task and ours alone you said, but when all the spoils are being shared, you come cap in hand. Least I asked for no gold. Now let me pass!" Branwen snarled back, Dain's guards stepped towards them only to be blocked by Gloin and Dwalin.

"Not a chance," Dain spat through his teeth.

"As daughter of Thorin Oakenshield, I command you," Khuzdul rolled seamlessly off her tongue as easily as water drops off a leaf. Her words were met with a stunned silence, Dain's men stood awestruck and the Company tried to stifle their smiles of pride.

But Dain's shock broke into manic laughter. "You! You are no more than an urchin! Thorin had no children or heir. That is why he named Fili but when he fell the honour descends to me,"

"I will swear it in any language I know and spill my blood in oath, but whatever I do I doubt you would ever believe me. I have the declaration from his own lips and my own memories, more over from the mouth of the great Smith himself. You want me proof, speak with Dwalin son of Fundin, he is after all my godfather."

She took this opportunity to duck under Dain's outstretched arm, turning back just as she was about to close the curtains. "Bombur make sure I am no disturbed, if you please."

The fat dwarf nodded with determination and sat down in front of the flap, crossing his thick arms over his chest in determination. He was a dwarf who would not be moved.  
****

Blood and Fear

As the curtains closed the noises of the world outside were blocked off. Nothing else mattered,there was nothing else, save the sound of Branwen's boots brushing against the stone floor and the brittle rasp of Thorin's breathing.

The inside of the tent seemed like a barren wasteland. It was cold and sparse, the chill in the air made Branwen's breath rise like smoke from her mouth but the cold ran deeper, flowing down into her bones: it was the chill of death. There were few furnishings save a chair in the corner, a nightstand with a jug of water and simple goblet. And there in a small bed, draped with white sheets lay Thorin.

Branwen had fought and ran to Thorin's side but now that the moment was here she couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot. Her muscles rejected every command and her feet rooted themselves to the earth.

There was a hitched intake of breath and a pained cough, Branwen closed her eyes as the breathing grew weaker and hoarser, until it seemed to boom in her ears like thunder. With a pounding heart and a numb feeling spreading through her fingers Branwen dared to inch closer to the bed.

Thorin's eyes were closed and his cheeks hallow. The rosy complexion of his face had drained away like the falling petals of a blossom, leaving his skin like pale marble. Branwen would have thought him a corpse if his breathing hadn't have sounded like nails against sandpaper. He looked so small, so fragile. The king was broken, his spirit shattered, leaving the weak husk of his damaged body behind.

His mail and under shirt had been removed. His torso and chest lay bare, save the bandages that laced his body like thick strands of a spiders web. Thorin's left shoulder was decimated, the arm was hanging on by tattered muscle, the bone shattered and his left bicep ripped to shreds by Azog's merciless mace. Branwen covered her mouth to stop from retching as bitter vomit violated her throat. Scarlet patches had began to seep though the starch whiteness of the bandages matching the parlour of his skin and his bloodless lips. His dark hair wreathed his face like a black halo streaked with silver.

Branwen's palm hovered over Thorin's chest for a moment before drawing it away and sinking to her knees, as if she were some puppet with its strings cut. Digging her nails into the mattress, she stared at the ground, refusing to register the pain of her breaking heart.

"I am so sorry. I am so so sorry. I wasn't there, I wasn't there by your side like I should have been. But I tried, I tried so hard to get to you, I couldn't...I couldn't..." Her angry words faltered, thick sobs clogged her throat and tears started to bead in her eyes. She tried to rub them away but they fell anyway.

The anger and pain and loneliness that had been building for so long spilled out raw and empty. Waves of unchecked emotions struck her, swallowed her up and drained her of all the barriers that she'd fought to protect. So she closed her eyes with bitter resignation and prayed.

"Aüle, if you are listening and by Durin's name I hope you are, I've done all you asked of me. I tried, I swear, I tried as hard as I could. But I still couldn't save Thorin, even after everything you did, I didn't save... But without him I can't save the mountain, I can't do this on my own. Not anymore. I can't be alone anymore. Just make him better and I'll do what you ask and more. Please, please I'm praying to you just this once. What more could I have done?!" she looked up to the sky and looked for answers in the pale fabric of the tents roof but none came. "What would you have had me do? Tell me?!"

Underneath her hands she felt the mattress shift slightly.

"Bow?" It was the barest of whispers but Branwen would have heard it hundreds of miles away, she stood as quickly as she could and cradled Thorin's hand, watching his blank face intently.

"Thorin ..." The name came out thick and shaky, catching painfully at the back of her throat.

"Bow..." Her old name was whispered through cracked bleeding lips and Thorin's fingers gave her hand the smallest of squeezes.

"Thorin, it's me, it's Branwen," she said pleadingly, half in dread that he wouldn't remember or reject or not see she was a changed person; a different person. What if he didn't know her?

"Branwen..." Thorin rasped, then a racking cough erupting from his chest so blood splattered his lips.

"I know you exiled me but, I... I remember, I remember all of it. The Rook and Mother and sneaking her apple biscuits with Dwalin and wrestling with you, just all of it. And I am so so sorry; I am so for everything." Her voice broke and she felt her lips tremble, Branwen covered her eyes for a moment trying to compose herself. She could have prevented so much death, so much hurt and suffering, if only she had seen!

Thorin's eyes flickered, dark thick lashes fluttering on his ashen cheeks, half lidded they opened; the brilliant blue of his eyes were dimed with pain and sorrow.

"Water," he said weakly, barely able to turn his head towards her. Branwen moved to the table and filled a goblet half full, then steadying the cup of water being careful not to brush his wound, she gently dribbled the cool liquid into his mouth. Thorin coughed and Branwen watched silently as blood trickled down the side of his mouth, mixing with the water from the goblet, then smoothed it away with her sleeve. Thorin tentatively licked his lips, watched her for a moment before speaking.

"Branwen, I found you at last but I fear too late. I can hear the calls of my forefathers," he said weakly, his voice barely a whisper. Branwen's throat convulsed and her eyes stung as tears fell down her cheeks, she grasped Thorin's hand like it was her lifeline.

"Don't you dare. I need you, more than ever,-" Branwen's voice broke and she struggled to take a calming breath, "Don't leave me on my own." Branwen raised his hand and pressed it to her cheek, kissing the inside of his coarse palm.

A ghost of a smile crossed Thorin's lips, "Branwen I am done, I cannot go on. Take the mountain and the gold. What need to I have for it now? What do I have to live for?" he sighed painfully, his rough fingers stroking faintly against her hair. Branwen withdrew from his touch and eyed him fiercely.

"What do you mean?! Thorin, your people need their king as much as I need my Father," Branwen whispered fiercely, the pain of his words mixing with the dread coiling painfully in her throat.

"I have waited decades for you to say that," Thorin remarked in the barest of whispers. His body heaved and his back arched in pain and his fist gripped the bed sheets, but Branwen took his hand and leant him what little strength she had left.

Panting, he settled down and Branwen watched in numb horror as long lines of blood began to stream from under the bandages at his chest. "I have seen too much blood for one person to take. I have seen my people brought to its knees in a morning, my Grandfather murdered in front of my eyes, and my Soulmate savaged by Orc's. My Father wanders lost to the wind and my Brother was cut down by slavers. You were all but a memory, Fili and Kili were my guiding stars and now..."His voice fell away into a painful intake of breath, his fingers contracted around hers and cold sweat shone of his dirt streaked brow. "I have no strength left to fight the world, I am done," his fevered skin and fiery temperature suddenly gave his eyes a brilliance that was like a star burning its last until disappearing into the darkness of space.

Even without Sight even Branwen knew that Thorin had lost his reason for living, if she didn't do something Thorin would...

"Thorin, listen to me!" she declared boldly, leaping to her feet and placing bother hands on either side of his pale face, she captured his eyes and didn't dare look away. "I am going to tell you something and I don't want you to overreact. But when I do I'm going to demand you stay alive," she said stubbornly.

"I think that's up to the Gods," Thorin said weakly, his breathing becoming a painful wheeze as Branwen soothed her thumbs over his temples.

"Your will is as powerful as theirs and you wouldn't dare die after what I've got to tell you," Branwen vowed, feeling his racing heart beat under her fingers.

"I swear," Thorin said without feeling, his brow crinkling in pain.

"Not good enough, swear on Mother's soul," Branwen ordered unyieldingly. Thorin's eyes widened in shock at this and he arched his brow, but even in his agonised state he swore in the ancient language of their forefathers. Satisfied , Branwen steadied her breathing and leant close to Thorin's ear, whispering five little words that would change the history of Erebor forever.

Thorin's eyes snapped open and his breathing hitched as the words resonated around his skull.

"Kili and Fili are alive..."

"What?!" Thorin bellowed trying to sit up but Branwen gently but firmly pressed his body back to the bed and pulled the covers over him, internally beaming that some of the colour had returned to his cheeks. Could she dare hope? Thorin was remarkably stubborn and stronger than anyone she'd ever known, he would not die.

"I will tell you more when you accept healers and start fighting again. We had a deal, remember?" Branwen said resting her hands on her hips.

"Why did you have to be so stubborn?" Thorin grumbled ruefully, closing his eyes and settling back down into the pillow.

"Well, with parents like you two, no wonder I got a double helping of stubborn rather than common sense." Branwen smiled and brushed away a lock of hair that stuck to Thorin's sweaty brow. Thorin smiled a little and he would have fallen asleep if not for Bombor poking his ginger head through the tent flap.

"Beggin' ya pardon but Bard and Thrandruil as you requested," the fat dwarf said, retreating quickly as Branwen cursed loudly in frustration at their timing, Thorin growled in half annoyance and half in pain.

"If he dare lay a hand on you again, I will sever each of his limbs on by one," Thorin seethed with venom, growing pale again.

"Well, at the moment, Thorin you're in no fit state to be severing anything but there is the sticky matter of rule. Dain was in here earlier trying to get you to sign over the mountain," Branwen began.

"I know, I was ignoring him," Thorin stated plainly, resting the back of his hand over his brow.

"Be that as it may, I raised the Company as council for the time being to stop Dain from monopolising," Branwen said matter-of-factly, preparing herself to be shouted out for being presumptuous. But instead Thorin let his hand fall from his eyes.

"Did you now?" Thorin looked at her squarely for a moment before patted her hand gently but reassuringly. "Send them in."

Branwen was taken aback and arched her eyebrow, thinking he was hallucinating, "Are you sure you're up to it?"

"If it leaves me in peace then let it be done," Thorin said sombrely, closing his eyes and nodding. Silently, Branwen parted the flap and tapped Bombur on the shoulder, beckoning the three lords forward: then returned to Thorin's side, studying each lord as they entered the tent.

Bard was first, looking bedraggled and weary but strong, giving Branwen a reassuring smile and nodding as he did so. Next came Dain, shooting her a cold glare, he went to Thorin's side and muttered something about "vengeance" and "usurpers", then took his place next to Bard, his eyes always watching Branwen.

All the hairs on her body stood on end and her back stiffened as Thrandruil ducked under the tent flap. Straightening to his full imposing height, he tilted his head slightly to Thorin and stared blankly at Branwen, letting his arctic blue eyes bore into her skull uncomfortably.

All was still, all waited on Thorin, Branwen could see he was remaining strong but lines of strain creased his face. His fingers dug into the sheets as he sucked in a wheezing breath.

"I will be as plain as my time on this earth is short. As such, I need someone to rule in my stead," Thorin began steadily, Dain's chest puffed out and he all but beamed mockingly at Branwen. "As my blood and rightful heir, I hand over my claim to the throne of Erebor and Ered Luin and all my worldly possessions to my daughter Branwen."

Dain made a choking noise and Branwen struggled to find words over a sudden whooshing sound in her ears.

"Thorin, you know I would gladly take charge while you recover but I could never take your crown," Branwen protested as she felt the world tilting away from her. Thorin turned his head and little and took her hand gently.

"It is in your blood, what you were born for," Thorin said quietly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"The hell she is! Who the hell is she anyway!?" Dain thundered wildly, making Bard shuffle his feet uncomfortably. Thrandruil was watching them all down the end of his noise.

"She is my daughter. I kept her a secret from those who would use my family against me, or does your memory play tricks on you Dain. Do you not recall the Raven at the Durin's Ball all those years ago?" Thorin snapped derisively, closing his eyes to Dain's dumbstruck face.

Thorin's words meant nothing to Branwen but Dain visibly paled under his dark beard. She couldn't think about this as racking coughs hit Thorin. Branwen braced her hand against the bandages on his chest and let him squeeze out the pain in her fingers. She waited until it subsided and his breathes calmed into a low wheeze. Branwen let out a long steadying sigh and reluctantly looked away from her father's prone figure.

"Gentlemen, let us continue this conversation outside," Branwen said in a tone that didn't invite argument. The two lords nodded grimly and Bard and Dain left the tent silently. Thrandruil stood stock still as a statue and as cold as ice, his face betrayed nothing but Branwen could guess that his mind was in turmoil. Then as quickly as he had come, he left and Branwen turned back to Thorin's side.

Pale as a corpse. His body had begun to shiver with fever and his eyes had rolled back into his head.

"Thorin, just hold on! I am going to make you well again. Remember you promised you would fight this." Branwen growled in determination.

Thorin swallowed and his hand clenched and unclenched around hers. "The halfing, he needs to know..." Thorin gasped for air.

"We're looking for him, he can't hide forever," Branwen explained as she stood, looking down at the King and memorising every line and wrinkle of his face.

Her father was dying and even though she had all the power of the mountain, she felt hopeless.

Smoothing her hand over his cheek, she pressed her lips to his brow, fear pooling in her chest as she felt the fever rage over Thorin's skin. "If you die, I will kill you," she stated forthright before turning on her


	25. The Death of a King

The Great Gates of Erebor

Branwen had to suppress the urge to run and hide as dozens of voices called to her at once as soon as she stepped out of the tent. Bracing one hand against her forehead and raising the other raised for silence, she waited till all was quiet to speak.

"Not everyone can speak at once! Not here anyway; if you want to speak to me please follow." Without waiting for an argument, Branwen began to march and indicated that the crowd should follow. The Company pushed their way through the throng of people and walked at her back, it was reassuring for Branwen to know they were there.

On the edge of the ruins of Dale there was the remains of a house. Its crumbling walls were half sunken into the ground and covered with grass but Branwen scaled a toppled chimney and looked out over the crowd.

"Let me speak first. Bard of Laketown," Branwen called, singling out the man's subdued figure in the crowd. The young Captain seemed legitimately surprised to be spoken to first, Dain's men grumbled loudly and the Mirkwood elves looked down at them with distain. "I am to have the Great Doors opened. Smuag assures me that the lower halls are safe and inhabitable for your peoples shelter, if you are willing to combine resources?" Branwen said resolutely, casting her eyes over the large crowd that had now been drawn by all the excitement. Everyone around her except the Company gasped in amazement and began to mumble with discontent.

"What do you mean Smuag assured you? You mean he's still alive!" Dain called loudly, Branwen fought to suppress rolling her eyes, already bored by the dwarf's stuffiness.

"How could he be dead? Nothing made in Middle Earth can kill him, which made him an ideal candidate for eternal protection for the mountain," Branwen said shortly, her tone bored.

"Is he safe?" Bard demanded half fearful half awestruck by the She-dwarf's gall.

"He is quiet safe; Smuag has signed a binding contract in the ancient languages . If we hold our end of the deal so shall he," Balin assured proudly and a murmur of appreciation ran through the crowd.

"No, I do not believe it! She will have the beast gnawing on our bones!" Dain exclaimed, his soldiers shifting closer to him when a piercing shout cut through the wave of discontent.

"Father, Father, there she is!" From down the very end of the ruined road a young dwarf dashed through the growing crowd of onlookers and shoved his way through the Iron Hills dwarves to Dain's side. "She's the one who saved me and for that matter the entire Steel legion. She saved my life, laying out dozens of Orc corpses with a flick from her sword. How did you find her?" Boedain pointed at her and tugged at his father's arm whilst the surrounding dwarves began to mumble in agreement.

"Rallied us she did," A distant dwarf murmured.

"Aye that be 'er', though she didn't 'ave that blood down er' face at the time," Branwen heard someone say loudly.

A life for a life was the rule between dwarves and now Dain owed her. Well. It sounded like a miracle to Branwen, who smiled and glanced knowingly up at the sky before turning to Boedain, raising her hands for silence.

"It's good to see you are still alive," she said inclining her head to Boedain before grinning smugly at Dain. "Now Dain, would I really want Smuag to kill you? No, not when I've risked my own life in saving your son." Raising her voice she called over to where the Company stood. "Bofur, please see to the mountain halls and tell the Healers to be ready to relocate. Bard, you may want to send word to your folk, I need you both ready by midday if you please."

Bard nodded stiffly and followed after Bofur, grim determination making their faces sombre under the grime and dirt from the battle. The Company nodded to her, giving reassuring smiles then turned and disappeared into the camp. Branwen watched them go almost reluctantly, but with responsibility weighing heavy on her shoulders she jumped down from her podium and advanced on Dain, taking his shoulders and giving him a warm shake.

"Dain, do not think that I have forgotten the sacrifice your people have made for us. I have seen their courage first hand and therefore I know you are worthy." She paused and turned them both so that they gazed up at the mountain while Dain remained stunned into silence. "The mountain needs a great amount of work and your craftsmen are unparallel, I hear. You have my word that when we are at leisure. I will have a contract set up and you may name your price." Dain made a strangled kind of noise as he tried to get his words out but Branwen ignored him and continued regardless, "But in the mean time would it be possible for some of your soldiers join the Commanders Gloin and Bifur in guard duty and perimeters?" she asked briskly then waited impatiently for Dain's reply.

"Very well, I accept your offer. But let it be known that I do this for Thorin and not for you; I am his is kin and shall always be kin, you are nothing to me," he grunted before throwing his cape over his shoulder and marching away, flanked by his body guard who shot Branwen cold looks and Boedain who waved shyly.

His words hurt. They pained her like a dull headache but she didn't have time to dwell on them. "Does anyone else need to speak to me urgently?" she called out to the dispersing crowd. There were a few murmurs and shuffling feet but as the crowd parted Thrandruil stood waiting, tall and cold and seemingly made of marble, he made the hair on her arms stand up.

But she didn't falter, running on adrenaline and the frantic energy of anxiety she marched forward and challenged Thrandruil as only a royal could. "Thrandruil, it appears we must speak to one another and clear the air."

"The air is thick with snow," Thrandruil retorted quickly. And so it was, the sky had turned a steel grey colour and the thick flakes of virgin snow had begun to cover the ground, sticking to Branwen's hair and eyelashes.

"That, Thrandruil, is not what I meant and you know it," she said tightly, trying to cool her anger and return the challenging stare, trying to not let the elf's intimidating height get the better of her. "Now let us speak plainly. You made a direct threat to the dwarf kingdom and to the line of Durin. You awoke the dark ways when you tortured me-"

"I needed to know if you were to threaten my kingdom. The Greenwood is already a dangerous dwelling, I would not risk my people by having dragon fire rain down upon them," Thrandruil declared passionately.

"I accept that you needed to protect your people and that you were unaware of my lineage, but your actions were an act of war, one which Thorin will never forgive," Branwen said deliberately slowly, laying a silent threat on each word and internally watching Thrandruil squirm, though no emotion showed on his pale face.

"Your blood was a mixed as leaves blowing in a gale; I could not sense your heritage-" Thrandruil began coldly and strengthening his arctic gaze so she could not look away.

"And yet you forged ahead," Branwen snapped, images of her dungeon flashing to the forefront of her mind.

"What could I have done?!" Thrandruil snapped viciously before pausing briefly to compose himself. "It is of little consequence; Thorin will not live out the night, brought to his own end by his pride."

The words were cold and they cut Branwen deeply, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She knew it was coming but to hear it out loud was another thing entirely. Her strength ebbed and her resolve seemed to crumble.

"No, he will not," she began calmly, not really knowing what she was saying until a plan seemed to flash into her mind like a bolt of lightning. "But for the life you almost ended, for the life of my father," she paused trying to sort the jumble of words in her head as air roared in her ears, she took a step forward and grabbed Thrandruil's silk sleeve. "Use your elf eyes! Do you see the essence of the Valar on my skin." Thrandruil's eyebrows crinkled on concentration and his eyes widened slightly. "If Thorin survives, the mountain will rise to the greatest strength Middle Earth has ever known. Ally with me now, lend me your strength, and I will write off all wrongs you have done to my house."

"That is a small price for such a large gift. I sense you would ask more of me," Thrandruil said almost tentatively, pulling his arm from her grasp.

Branwen took a step back and steadied herself, breathing slowly, "Thorin is dying but if my dealings with Lord Elrond are anything to go by, elves are uncommonly skilled healers. The King needs your skill now."

"He would never accept..." Thrandruil said after thinking a moment. It was half a hope, a rare and fleeting spark thing that could have been extinguished in breath of wind, but none the less it was a hope; Branwen clung to it.

"He will do as he's told, I have made sure of that. I will have a dwarf assist you to put my men as ease, if anyone gives you any trouble send them to me and I will deal with them. I will send orders that you are not to be disturbed," Branwen said indomitably, not letting any chance of hope slip through her fingers.

"Very well, I will need to gather some supplies. My son will attend to your other requests. All that I ask is that you tell Thorin yourself, I have no tolerance for his misplaced anger," Thrandruil said evenly, nodding stiffly as he gestured for his son to come forward.

"An hour then, outside Thorin's tent," Branwen ordered as Thrandruil began to move away but just as he did so she caught his elbow. "But know this Thrandruil King of the woodland realm, if he dies I will personally skin you alive," she whispered darkly under her breath so that only Thrandruil could hear.

Thrandruil smiled coldly and shrugged off her arm before moving away to whisper in the ear of a young blonde elf who was stood just a short distance away. Placing his hand on the young elf's shoulder, he strode away into the depths of the camp. Gracefully, the young elf came forward and bowed to Branwen.

"My lady, I am Legolas son of Thrandruil Prince of the woodland realm. How may I serve?" the elf said formally, his blonde hair tucked behind his ears blowing in a gust of icy wind.

"Legolas? You look familiar?" Branwen said curiously as something niggled at the back of her mind.

"We met briefly during your stay in the woodland realm," Legolas assured brightly.

"My "stay" is that what we're calling it," Branwen snorted in dark amusement as Legolas swallowed, showing off his sharp cheek bones and strong jaw. Branwen shook herself back to reality, "Anyway Prince Legolas, how many men are at your command?"

"750, 125 lay injured and 113 were found dead. Some are still missing," Legolas reported without emotion but Branwen saw a muscle in his neck twitch.

"Very well. I will ask you have some help clear the field of the dead. See Bard and Dain how they want burial. All Orcs are to be burned. Then I'll need some to join with the perimeter force, see Gloin and Bifur for that, also any riders you have will help considerably with a scouting party..." Her words fell away as she heard gasps and exclamations fill the air.

Creaks and groans echoed off the mountain side with the sound of metal grinding against metal: the Great Gates of Erebor were opening.

Branwen turned back to Legolas who smiled a little at the sight. "Then we'll need help getting as many people into the mountain as possible. Start with the field hospital, see Oin for orders, then see to the invalids of Laketown," Branwen paused as a beautiful redheaded elf came up behind Legolas a whispered in his ear, he nodded and said something in elfish that Branwen didn't understand. The female elf, who was faintly familiar, sank to her knees in front of Branwen

"My lady, the wrongs I have done you in the past are grievous and one day I hope I may make up for that. But rumour has it that you are seeking a "hobbit"?" The redheaded elf began but Branwen grasped her shoulders and exclaimed.

"You've seen Bilbo!?" After everything that had recently happen, Bilbo had been pushed to the back of her mind, but with simple word "hobbit" Bilbo's strawberry blonde curls and rosy cheeks flashed to the forefront of her mind. "Tell me elf, what is your name?" she asked impatiently.

"I am Turiel of the woodland realm, Captain of the Elm scouts," the redhead said in a clipped formal tone.

"Very well Turiel, take me to where you heard these theses stories?"  
***  
Goodbye

After fifteen minutes of orders and demands, shouted on Branwen's part, she found herself following behind a small contingent of elves as they retraced their steps through the battle field.

With growing anxiety Branwen carefully picked her way through the field of corpses, mostly Orc and goblin now thanks to the efforts of Bard and Legolas' elves. Thick black smoke filled the air and rose from the eastern peak of the mountain. It made the air sting Branwen's nose, but it was a comfort to know that, if any of the remaining Orc forces were massing, they would see the smoke rising from the burning bodies of their comrades.

Just as Branwen was beginning to lose hope, one of Turiel's elves cried out and Branwen's feet pounded under her, dread and anxiety burning in her chest to make a potent mix of nerves.

Please let the burglar be unharmed, let him live, let him be alive.

Snowflakes covered his cheeks and his matted hair, its burnished gold lustre was lost under the blood and grime of the battle field, his lips were pale blue and bloodless and frostbitten. Half hidden under the body of a thick set Orc with Sting sticking out of the creature's neck and its black blood covered Bilbo's body. Scarlet blood covered the animal's snout from the flesh he'd torn from Bilbo's shoulder, covering the side of his face, running from his ear. Bilbo was curled with his knees to his chin, arms wrapped protectively round himself. Branwen found herself swallowing back a painful lump that had formed in her throat; he looked so small but so brave.

"Bilbo." The words escaped Branwen's mouth as the painful feeling spread through her chest and her torso, leaving her body numb and her fingers cold.

Turiel bent down and shook the hobbit's shoulder. Bilbo didn't stir. Then the elf made to scoop the hobbit into her arms but Branwen stepped forward.

"No, he is one of mine, I will take him," she said stiffly. Branwen shoved the Orc off Bilbo and gave it a kick for good measure before ripping out Sting and handing it hilt first to Turiel. Then pushing Bilbo on his back and cupping the back of his neck with her hand, Branwen pulled him upright and with Turiel's help hoisted him into her arms.

The going was hard and painful, she stumbled and panted and her ankle she began to throb in pain but, ignoring the odd looks she got from passerby, Branwen marched straight to Thorin's tent.

"Get him a cot!" she ordered to the guard from the Iron Hills that had been posted at the door of Thorin's tent. Branwen cupped the back of Bilbo's head as she lowered him down onto the cot, which was placed a few feet away from Thorin. Thrandruil appeared by her side and silently tilted Bilbo's head, examining his face and shoulder. Other elves flooded in and out carrying various bits of equipment, the likes that Branwen had never seen before

A table was placed against the far wall of the tent and a cauldron of pungent herbs set simmering above a flame; glass bottles of varying sizes and shapes were filled with different coloured smokes and jars of ointments were laid out in long rows. In the middle of the table was a leather parcel, Thrandruil rolled it open to reveal a long line of silver instruments which Branwen remembered with horrifying clarity, the hairs on her arms stood up and she struggled to suppress a shiver that ran cold down her spine.

Thrandruil moved away and nodded to one of his attendants who started stripping Bilbo of his ruined shirt and wiping him down. Thrandruil moved to Thorin's side and began checking his pulse and wiping the feverish sweat from him brow with a damp cloth. At some point, Branwen was offered a chair which she took gratefully as her knees began to weaken and found herself stroking the battered fingers of the Hobbit when her eyes suddenly settled on a curious ring.

It was simple and bright, unmarked by the dust of battle. It looked precious... Branwen glanced at Bilbo's calm sleeping face and began to ease it off his finger. She held it in her palm for a moment, watching the light dance off its shiny surface when Sight scorched her eyes.

She saw fire and dust and in the dark background of a fiery sky a great lidless eye wreathed in flame a top a tall iron tower watched as all the world bowed to its will. A great terror welled in her but them a warmth swan around her eyes that seemed to whisper from the back of her mind.

Hush now, little Princess, we are sleeping.

Unease grew and blossomed on her chest and she pushed the curious ring back into the pocket of Bilbo's tattered trousers just as he began to wake.

"Bilbo, its Branwen, can you hear me?" Branwen asked attempting to seem calm, brushing sweaty curls away from his eyes. His eyes remained closed but tears ran down the corners of his cheeks and his cracked lips parted slightly.

"Kili and Fili, I saw them... Sweet Yvanna, they were so young," Bilbo murmured as if reliving the nightmare. Branwen didn't know how to comfort him; this distress was her doing and she couldn't fix it.

"Bilbo..." a hoarse voice breathed. Thorin turned his head and tried to edge to the side of the bed, though it caused his excuraiting pain. Branwen began to get up and move away but Bilbo held her hand tight as she noticed him tremble slightly and his watery eyes opened, staring at Thorin's broken body. She squeezed his hand back and they both waited silently for Thorin to catch his breath.

Branwen couldn't look at her father: blood had drained from his lips, his greying hair stuck to the sweat on his brow, and his arm lay limp as he dragged it behind him. Blood ran freely from under the bandages on his chest: it was like long flowing rivers on a marble dessert as the lines made there way down onto the starched sheets of his bed.

"Bilbo, I am dying," Thorin whispered, his lips twitching a little as a sob choked Bilbo. "But my people shall know what you sacrificed for my pride." Thorin extended his hand as fair as he could and Branwen helped Bilbo sit up, so that he may wrap his fingers around Thorin's. "There is more in you of good that you know, child of the kindly west. Some courage and wisdom, blended in perfect measure," Thorin said thoughtfully, smiling weakly at the tears that were rolling down Bilbo's face, leaving wet trails down his blood stained cheeks.

Thorin's eyes burned with feverish blue fire as he looked from Bilbo to Branwen, seeming to study every plain of their faces. He closed his eyes and drew in a painful sigh. His thumb stroked over Bilbo's battered knuckles soothingly and his face was calm; serene and tranquil, like taking a breath before the plunge. Thorin's eyes locked with Bilbo's and a solitary tear fell from the corner of his eye before saying, "May the world be kind to you like I was not."

Thorin closed his eyes and fell back on his pillows, the rise and fall of his chest had stopped. His hand fell from Bilbo's grip and hung lifeless by his side.

"Thorin..." A cold numbness spread through Branwen as Thorin's muscles went slack. The colour drained from his lips and his face was empty. Leaping to her feet, she stared down at Thorin's body as a coldness swept through her, "Thrandruil, quickly we are losing him! Do something!" she bellowed desperately, grabbing Thorin's shoulders and looking to the Elvin king for help. But Thrandruil closed his eyes and shook his head, titling it towards the ground and muttering a prayer under his breath.

"Thrandruil we had a deal!" Branwen growled frantically, shutting out the loud painful sobs of anguish from Bilbo.

Thrandruil met her eyes for the briefest of seconds, genuine regret in his arctic eyes, " I am truly sorry but he has gone."

Branwen heard air roar in her ears and blood pounding painfully in her throat, all her strength seemed to drain from her body, as her eyes lowered down to the body in the bed.

That's it, just a body, a vessel, an empty shell. The body of a king- great and powerful, the strength of a dwarf, stout of heart and stubborn as they come- the body of her father- the King Under The Mountain- Thorin Oakenshield lay quiet as his life blood drained down his arm into the stone beneath their feet.

His spirit was gone and his body lay growing cold.

Branwen's trembling fingers hovered over his skin, his hand, his chest. In a dreamlike state, she moved a lock of hair and smoothed the braid back behind his ear. She heard her name called, but it echoed around her head without meaning, all she could hear were words and no voice.

She took his palm and clung to it for support as her knees hit the ground. Slamming her eyes shut and rejecting everything around her but the feel of his coarse fingers. The feel of his coarse fingers growing cold, cold like the forge like heat of his skin had been extinguished forever.

Somewhere far above her, she felt Bilbo sobbing and pulling at her shoulders. Thrandruil came forward, silently, gently: placed his hands over Thorin's eyes, closing them, so that they would never to grace the world with their colour again or shine like gems in a fire.

The world was grey without them. So grey and so cold, and growing colder with every passing minute.

"Everyone back! Now!" Gandalf demanded, throwing back the curtains of the tent. The air around him swirled black and writhed like a maelstrom, his voice ricthoted off their bones but Branwen refused to move from Thorin's side, until Gandalf leapt forward and hauled her back.

Tossing his hat and cloak onto Bilbo's cot but retaining his staff, Gandalf pulled back his grey hair and bent down to place his ear over Thorin's heart.

"Gandalf, you have come too late, his is dead," Thrandruil told Gandalf sternly, not bothering to hide his words.

Gandalf paused and listened for a moment before turning to Thrandruil. "No, he is only partly dead. There is still time," he said in a frantic whisper but Thrandruil shook his head, blonde hair falling about his face.

"Then what are you waiting for!" Bilbo declared, struggling to sit up on his cot under Gandalf's cloak and hat. Gandalf looked to Branwen, who stared catatonic at him for a moment, then nodded falteringly.

The only words she heard were, "There is still time."

Without another word Gandalf grabbed a knife from his belt and began slicing through Thorin's bandages. Branwen closed her eyes and rested her head in her hands. She heard the deafening shredding of fabric and Thrandruil's murmured complaints.

"It is too hazardous. The operation may not work and it would still drain you of energy. What if there is a counter attack? You will not be able to defend us," Thrandruil snapped harshly. Branwen heard Gandalf pause a moment then declaring fiercely.

"For Thorin, it is a risk I am willing to take," Gandalf ground out, not bothering to meet Thrandruil's eyes as he stared down at the ragged remains for Thorin's chest.

"It is his heart; there has been extensive damage to it, that much was clear, but I have not had a chance to see the full extent," Thrandruil commented matter-of-factly, peering over Thorin and rolling his sleeves up.

"Hot water," Gandalf ordered, his eyes not leaving Thorin's chest as he probed the edges deftly with his fingertips. Thrandruil returned with the small cauldron of herby water and doused it over Thorin's chest, being careful not to get it on the bed sheets. Without a word Gandalf pushed his hands into Thorin's chest cavity.

Branwen looked up as Bilbo let out a hushed gasp and Thrandruil began to pace restlessly. A heartbeat, a minute passed as Gandalf began to mumble, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The shadows of the tent seemed to flicker and grow longer and darker, drawing closer to Gandalf as he drew all power to him, draining to the air and gaining strength from the mountain. Suddenly Gandalf thrust his bloodied hand into his robes and withdrew a rough stone, breathing light into it so it glowed brilliantly. Gandalf placed the glowing stone over Thorin's heart.

A shades of light erupted from Thorin's chest like solar flares trapped in a crystal vase, the blazing flash of light scorched the inside of the tent and a wall of wind that knocked Gandalf back onto Bilbo's cot.

All was still. A faint smoke rose from Thorin's chest, filling the tent with burning the smell of burning hair and flesh. No one moved, no one spoke, but they all listened to the sharp gasping intake of breath.

Branwen stared at her boots as racking coughs filled the room, and then fell, being replaced with eight little words that seemed to put the light back into the world for Branwen.

"What the hell is that elf doing here?!" Thorin's voice was hoarse, pained and livid but alive, disgruntled anger burned behind his words, so much so that Branwen's sob broke into a harsh laugh.

Gandalf dragged his old gnarled hands through his hair and shakily got to his feet, offering his hand to Branwen. Pulling her standing, Gandalf patted her on the shoulder and winked reassuringly, pushing her to Thorin's side.

Mercifully, the colour was returning to his cheeks and lips, his frown was stubborn and unyielding, blue orbs danced with fire. His breathing was level and deep. His bronze skin burned with warmth that seemed to scorch Branwen down to her bones .

Branwen struggled to make her voice sound harsh as her lips curled into a smile and tears slide down the curve of her cheek. "There's no use in scowling, my king. What's done is done. Thrandruil shall be your healer and I don't want to hear another word about it."

Thorin turned his head and let his brilliant eyes focus on her a second, seeming to memorise every line and inch of her face. "I thought you had no king?" Thorin said slowly, the tiniest hint of a smile nestled in his blood stained beard.

"Well, I suppose time can change a person," Branwen said lightly, shrugging as she smiled, digging her hands into her pockets and shuffling her feet awkwardly.

Thorin let out a pained sigh and pushed his head back into the pillows, staring up at the white canvas roof thoughtfully. "Aye, the sands of time are ever with us, changing us, shaping us into the people who we will become. It is your memories who make you who you are and never forget that," Thorin murmured closing his eyes as Branwen sat by his side and took his hand. She listened to the distant noise of the people outside: their people, who were once again returning to Erebor, and the soft sound of contented breathing as Thorin slept deeply, warmed by the knowledge that he had done his duty and his home was restored so that he and Branwen could call Erebor their home at long last.


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have some more goodies and extra info as a bonus which I might add later

May 9th- 2942

Dear Princess Branwen, daughter of Thorin Oakenshield King under the Mountain, etc

You are the sneakiest most underhanded trickiest dwarf I have ever had the displeasure to meet in all my life, and I've played poker with Nori, so that's really saying something! I would have you know that you are now at the very top of my Least Favourite people list, which also happens to include Lobelia Sackville-Baggins!

You could have given me some warning! I mean, I like visitors as much as the next Hobbit but this was taking it a bit far don't you think.

You were very nearly the death of me, again! After a long journey from Weathertop, Gandalf and I took a rather leisurely route through Bree, where we heard rumours of dwarves in Hobbiton. Gandalf presumed they were traders from Ered Luin, but sweet Yvanna! When I turned into BagEnd, if I didn't meet a pair of manically grinning faces that looked very very familiar.

I thought I'd gone mad- Mad Baggins- Yes, that's what I would be called. I nearly had a heart attack!

You let me weep mourn for them and they bloody well turn up on my doorstep, with a tea tray in one hand and some burnt scones in the other; and if I might add looking, looking very pleased with themselves! They had been living in my house! My house! Living in my family home for months while we'd bloody buried empty coffins for them: scorching the kitchen table and building a bloody great forge in the garden, and you knew all this time!

I am in half a mind to write to Thorin and the Company what would Thorin say? You should have told. I can't believe you didn't think you could trust me with their secret

But have no fear, I will not turn them out- a decision that I will probably live to regret. They are actually being quite a help, fixing the innumerable things that the Company broke all them months ago. The forge will be very useful for the village and I do not doubt that the boys will be able to show off their skills. They are good boys maybe I am too hard on the.

Mithril indeed, you, Branwen are getting too big for your boots!

Give my love to the Company and Thorin, I do hope he is healing well.

Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo.   
****  
March 14th- 2945

My Dearest Branwen,

I thank you for the gold you sent, reinvesting all the Company's shares was a stroke of genius. At least this way Bombur won't eat his within the year. But I must say even with only 0.05 percent capital, I am sure to run out of space within the year. Would it be possible to keep my interest in Erebor, for I have more than I could ever spend in Hobbiton. Yes, let Smuag keep my gold safe for me, while I don't have a use for it.

Kili and Kantos SpiderBane and Fillgran Goldleaf, as the idiots have renamed themselves, have made a good deal of loyal customers with their fine work at the forge. Kili is Kantos is becoming famous for his unbreakable cartwheels and has recently developed a new type of lock. Fillgran however, enjoys engraving and delicate craftsmanship, Old Took has even asked him to make a new marching set of jewellery for Mrs Took's birthday next month.

But no, that is not why I am writing!

High Chamberlin of the West! Are you out of your Dwarven mind!?

I can't , I wouldn't know how or what to do, I am not you Branwen and I can't just jump into roles. I am a Baggins of BagEnd and that's all, well apart from being a poor excuse for a burglar when called upon.

Although, Bilbo Baggins High Chamberlin of the West does have a certain ring to it...

No, no, Balin would do a far better job than I ever could.

I'm glad to hear Bofur and the dwarves from the Iron Hills are progressing with the mountain, I would dearly hope to see Erebor in its former splendour and when the library is complete, send word and I will send you some books to help fill it.

Ever faithful,

Bilbo Baggins,

P.S. Well done forming the Raven Post Network, Dori must be very proud of himself, it has made correspondence far easier. I don't have to rely on those shifty Rangers to carry my notes to you, instead of months, letters will only take days; you are a clever one!

Delivered by Harrac, Private of the RPN –{Raven Post Network} Eriador Division  
***  
April 2nd 2945

Dear Branwen,

As requested I have made contact with Ered Luin and have made arrangements. The first of three caravans of supplies left yesterday morning and is due to reach Balin's halls in Moria in mid April.

Whilst in Ered Luin, I had the honour of meeting Thorin's sister Dis {who is I suppose is your Aunt} and had the very awkward situation of telling her that her sons were not actually dead but in fact making spoons in Hobbiton. She is a very lovely and a very charming lady, but it's scarce to say that Thorin's temper is certainly genetic.

On another matter of importance, Orcs have been sited on the Great East Road heading west, now I know a small couple is no cause for alarm but this has become a regular accurance and although Elrond is willing to protect the Rhudar he will not send men within the borders of the Shire and the Rangers are too few and far between to be of any real good. We have youngun's' a plenty but Fillgran and Kantos do not have the expertises to train them to the level of skill that is needed. If you could send an advisor or someone with knowledge in defensive weaponry, I would be very grateful.

Speaking of Fili and Fillgran and Kantos, they send their love and say that they miss you and Thorin deeply. They say not to worry for they are doing very well for themselves. And they are indeed; they have extended the forge and have recently purchased the paddock next to BagEnd, where they plan to build their own smial. I have told them that is has to fit in with BagEnd and not look like some Dwarven monstrosity, no offence intended. Work begins in April and should be finished by the harvest.

All in all they are doing well. Frodo my nephew, who has recently come into my care, is very fond of the boys and they are becoming fast friends and pillars of the community. Kili Kantos' beard came through over the winter, it is a fine sight! Like coal was spun into strands of silk, he would make any dwarf swoon and any hobbit for that matter. Fillgran is overprotective and makes it known that no one is to mess with his brother, though he finds himself in the midst of his own suitors, much to Kili's annoyance. Fillgran's golden mane of hair had the Hobbitess' at Took's winter party practically green with envy!

How you would laugh to see them! With a little gentle nudging, I have transformed them into polite and clean Dwarf/Hobbits, instead of the loud rude brutes who I first met. I would have you know, they willingly wash daily and all it took was some positive reinforcement in the form of honey cake.

I'm sorry to hear Thorin's shoulder is troubling him but then, so does my collar bone in cold weather. Attached to this letter is a packet of Old Toby, a special pipe weed we have in the south Farthing, it should give his shoulder some relief.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Your affectionate Burglar and Chamberlain of the West,

Bilbo x

Delivered by Mooroc, Acting Lieutenant of RPN –{Raven Post Network}Ered Luin Division  
****  
It was dawn, a time of morning that Branwen had always loved. Peaceful and quite, the gentle ride down to Dale was a good opportunity for solace and reflection, a time to collect ones thoughts.

But this morning was different, Branwen made her horse stand on the apex of Dale Hill and they both watched the sun rise from the horizon as Sight flashed in front of her.

She saw Erebor, wreathed in full bountiful fields and flowers, with greenery and life. It was like the mountain itself was cloak in emeralds. It was so beautiful that Branwen could have wept and when she opened her eyes she did weep; for as the sun rose in line just so the first rays of morning hit the earth, the Desolation was a riot of colour and every shade of green that Branwen had ever imagined.

The charred remains of Smaug's fire were sprouting with life once again.

Before she knew what she was doing, Branwen spurred her horse back to the mountain and went straight to her room, where she penned a letter to Bilbo.

****  
"Do you know that there is only 250 female dwarves in the mountain, including me," Branwen told Thorin matter-of-factly as they both watched lines of soldiers running drills at the bottom of the mountain from balcony on top of the main archway.

"I did not, is it really that low?" Thorin asked with genuine surprise, turning and arching his eyebrow at her.

"250 out of thousands, that is a dangerous percentage. If there was a plague or a bad harvest, we could be wiped out, there would not be enough dwarves to sustain us," Branwen said sombrely.

"I sent word to every city of Men asking for the Mountains people to return, what else would you have me do?" Thorin asked stiffly, adjusting his shoulder brace so it was more comfortable. After his injury, Thorin's shoulder had never fully recovered, the bone had been shattered and the muscle torn to pieces. Without the leather brace, his hand hung weakly by his side and would not move. Branwen knew it pained him to be seen as an invalid with a useless arm held stiffly to his chest but she reminded him that is was better than being dead.

Branwen had to hide a smile that grew on her face; she had planned this conversation to the letter and in every detail. But after much anxiety and nerves, she found Thorin even more suggestible than she had hoped.

"What we need is new blood, loyal and strong..." Branwen began as Thorin nodded fervently.

"Yes, able bodied too, resilient. But men or elves care not for dwarves," Thorin remarked shaking his head.

"Yes indeed, hard workers and resilient, all of them hardy folk..." Branwen continued until Thorin clapped his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him.

"What are you up to?" Thorin said with intrigue and Branwen beamed proudly. From within the inside of her tunic she produced a thick wad of paper and pushed it into her Father's hands and over the next hour told him the story of the Erebor and the Ever Green Desolation.

**

On top of the wad of paper was a note in Bilbo's handwriting which Thorin read first as Branwen filled his head with endless fields and meadows.

April 15th - 2961

My Dearest Branwen,

It is an honour that you offer my people. I would never miss such an opportunity and neither will some of the more adventurous Hobbits.

While the Shire will always be in my heart, Erebor shrouded with wreathes of greenery would be a sight I would very much like to see. Hobbits have, as you know, the ability to make almost anything grow. So if the Desolation is as you say "spontaneously sprouting," it won't be hard to cultivate.

I am more than happy to put the offer forward and would greatly welcome the First Hobbit Colony of Erebor; it shall be a wonder of the age! I suppose you wouldn't have to import food anymore and would even be able to breed your own horses.

Just tell Thorin before you make any permanent arrangements.

Faithful,

Bilbo x

Delivered by BeetleEye- Captain of the RPN-{Raven Post Network} Chamberlain's Division  
***

"You did say we needed able-bodied workers, strong and loyal, I thought you just described all the attributes associated with Hobbits," Branwen smirked proudly as Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I know what you were insinuating and I know you mean well, but I don't want our blood tainted," Thorin argued stubbornly, a little disgruntled that the letter and contract had been sent away to the Shire almost two weeks ago.

"Blood is all the same colour when spilt," Branwen snorted dismissively, "all I am suggesting is that the Hobbit colony help cultivate the base of the mountain and if the two races happen to be thrown together, we will not discourage matches if they arise."

Thorin's head snapped up suddenly and he visibly paled. "Please tell me you have not a Hobbit in mind for..." Thorin began on the verge of parental horror.

"Thorin! I get enough of that from Dwalin. No, I am not marrying Bilbo, a hobbit or anyone else for that matter," Branwen exclaimed, punched Thorin lightly on his good arm.

Thorin chuckled nervously and dragged a hand through his thick hair, now more silver than black. Sighing deeply, Thorin tucked Bilbo's letter into his pocket and {with a little help from Branwen} managed to pull away the string that was keeping the wad of paper together. The title scrawled in Branwen's messy handwriting read "The Ever Green Treaty."

"I see you're determined in this," Thorin said with mildly, smiling at Branwen with resignation.

Branwen sighed deeply. She cast her eyes over the tiny figures running drills at the foot of the mountain, the match stick like scaffolding that stuck out of Dale's skyline as Bard worked hard to rebuild and then she turned back to Thorin; Her father.

It would never get old that, having a Father, having a family and a home. Some nights she would wake up in her room in Durin's halls, cold sweat and her chest panting, thinking that all her adventures with the Company and finding her memories were all some elaborate dream: and when she woke she would be alone, alone again in the wilderness.

Thorin had aged considerably from her very first memories of him as a Dwarrow. His hair and beard were now more silver than black, his hostile blue eyes had gained a haunted wisdom that always made her second guess herself, but his voice had always remained the same; deep and welcoming, though his strength was waning, Branwen could always find home in his resonating hum.

"Father, the mountain is coming alive again. I think, since we've been away it has been sleeping, almost ,waiting for us to return home: Aüle mines rock and stone, Yvanna grows and harvests; they work together as one, so let the Hobbits bring to the soil what dwarves bring to the mountain," Branwen said slowly, letting the idea of a green mountain sink in.

"Fine, I'll allow a Hobbit colony but on one condition." Thorin replied nonchalantly, after taking a moment to think over her words.

"Really! Really? I didn't think you'd go for it," Branwen exclaimed in excitement, pulling Thorin into a tight hug, Thorin chuckled and groaned the bones in his shoulder clicked painfully. Branwen released him quickly and patted his arm. "What condition?" she said levelly, wary of the broad smile that sprang up on Thorin's face.

"On the condition that you have an official coronation in front of the entire mountain and representatives of the other dwarf kingdoms," Thorin declared matter-of-factly, catching Branwen's chin as she groaned in exasperation and tried to turn away, but he gently titled her head up and met her eyes levelly. "Branwen, my beautiful girl, I know it's a pain and a chore, and after all you've done for the good of the mountain and its people you shouldn't need a ceremony to be the Durin that you are. But as a wise dwarf once said "fate is not kind", if anything happens to me, or... well, I am not taking any chances for your lineage to be questioned."

Branwen was not impressed. The official crowning ceremony was more than a piece a jewerly and a banquet to her, it was so much more than that, and it was an idea that would be her cage for the rest of her life. It was a stupid and irrational fear, she had all but embraced the life of "Branwen, Heir to the line of Durin," and yet, she couldn't bring herself to make it written stone.

She pulled away from Thorin's hands and rested on the balustrade, starring out at the green horizon of Mirkwood, before dragging a hand over her braids and pinched the top of her nose. Branwen let out a long tired sigh and mumbled under her breath, "Life was simpler when I was an orphan."

"Deal, but I have my own conditions. I will go through with the ceremony only when there is nothing urgent that needs seeing to and the Hobbit colony is fully underway," Branwen demanded stiffly, holding her hand out so that they could shake on the agreement.

"Only you and your Mother ever got me to agree to conditions," Thorin smirked, ignoring her outstretched hand and stepping forward, pressing his forehead against hers.

**  
As Bilbo had predicted the first caravans arrived in Moria in mid march of 2964, and after spending a week or two recuperating in Balin's halls, they progressed onwards through Mirkwood on the Road to Safe Haven and arrived in Erebor during October.

The Road to Safe Haven was the new trade route that went from Erebor, down the River Running, through Laketown and Mirkwood ending in the Great Market of the Second Hall in Moria. It was testament of the new found tolerance of the dwarves of Erebor and the elves of Mirkwood, with the input of two small contingents of soldiers, the Knights of the Road were founded and gave their pledge to the safety of all travellers on the Road. Not only did this ensure the wealth of Erebor was distributed in commerce but also that there was no longer such a gap between east and west. Sitting right in the middle of the Misty Mountains, Moria was the meeting place of both and home to the largest and most diverse markets this side of Middle Earth. This kept Balin and his kin so busy that they soon found themselves too busy to mine for gold, having to keep track of all exchanges rate fair etc, the wealth of Moria grew so much that it almost rivalled Erebor; almost.

The first caravans brought much needed supplies like leather and fabric for clothing, supplies of which had nearly all burnt in Laketown, and other more precious goods like family. It was a strange feeling for Branwen as she watched alone from the top of Erebor's steps as Gloin dashed out and embraced his family, kissing his lovely wife soundly on the mouth and ruffling his son's hair.

She was just about to turn aside when a high pitched shriek filled the air, Branwen grabbed at her dagger only to be caught round the middle and tossed into the air in a bone rib cracking hug.

"You're just like a little version of her!" the she-dwarf sobbed into Branwen's hair, roughly patted her head while Branwen struggled to breathe. Branwen pulled herself free and told the women sharply to pull her together but the She-dwarf just caught her ear and twisted viscously. "That is no way to welcome your Aunt!" the woman barked and marched into the mountain dragged Branwen all the way behind her.

But Branwen herself was testament to the motto- don't judge a book but its cover. Soon, she came to rely on her Aunt Dis for all manner of things and became close friends with Gimili. She couldn't help but like Gimili, he was bullish and loud and brash, and caused a painful lump to well in her chest for he reminded her so much of Fili and Kili. Also, being almost forty five years her junior he still had his youthful arrogance and naivety which Branwen found almost refreshing.

It was during the time when Gloin was sent to train Bilbo's troops in the Shire that Branwen was charged with keeping an eye on Gimli while his Father and Mother were away. During these months Gimili had taken to shadowing her everywhere she went and even tried to follow her into a secret meeting that Thrandruil, Bard and Thorin had been called to.

"Gimli, what would be the point of a "secret meeting" if I let you in?" Branwen declared, bracing her hands on the doorframe and blocking the door as Gimili tried to peak through.

"Aye, but I wouldn't tell anyone, I aint a tattler'" he huffed unhappily and ruffed his short ginger beard.

"I know I can trust you to keep secrets but what would it look like if I let you in, even when King Thrandruil wouldn't let his son inside," Branwen said earnestly, nodding towards Legolas who starred broodingly into the hall fireplace.

"Aye' but he's an elf," Gimili glared at Legolas' back over his shoulder, Branwen struggled to hide a smirk.

"Prince Legolas, will you attend us a moment?" She called to the elf. Without making a noise, Legolas floated across the hall and bowed to her, Gimili snorted with laughter but Branwen ignored him. "From our dealings after the Battle of Erebor I know you are a great warrior Prince Legolas, are you, however familiar the art of axe wielding?"

Gimili gaped and Legolas looked affronted. "Elves are proficient with all manner of weaponry, few use axes as they are considered vulgar, only the likes of dwarves use them," Legolas said haughtily, tilting his head a little and showing off his high cheekbones.

"Elves don't wield axes cause' you're frightened you'll bruise that pretty face of yours'" Gimili growled, turning red from anger and puffing out his chest. Legolas turned and starred down at Gimili and Branwen watched his arctic blue eyes turned from arrogance to amusement.

"Shall we put that statement to the test?" Legolas said stiffly.

"The training field, shall we say noon?" Gimili fumed with anticipation, bouncing on the balls of feet and puffing out his chest.

"Why wait, the sooner the better," Legolas declared boldly and before she could even blink the pair was marching off down the hall.

Shaking her head, Branwen closed and locked the Council room door behind her: she'd either seen the start of a beautiful lifelong friendship or caused another war, but ultimately at least Gimili had a playmate while she was busy, whether he'd be in one piece by the end of the meeting was another thing entirely.

The council room was silent when she entered; a roaring fire crackled in the hearth and long shadows dancing along the walls. Branwen was surprised to see Balin sat on Thorin's right; she hadn't heard of his coming. Anxiety flared in her chest: if he had left his halls in Moria the situation must be dire indeed.

Thrandruil sat opposite Thorin and Balin with his back to the fire, swirling a goblet of wine in his hand. A couple of chairs down Lord Bard of Dale sat with his son Chade, an eager boy who had his Fathers curls and inquisitive eyes.

In the very center of the room stood a Ranger, bedraggled and travel worn, he recited his story with the simple clarity of a soldier and stated the facts simply when asked to elaborate by Thorin.

"There have only been half a dozen sightings, and besides they were moving in the opposite direction," Balin assured the council after the Ranger had left the Council chamber. News of Goblins and Orcs moving on mass had been slowly coming through for weeks now. First, a message from Dori, Master General of the Raven Post Network via one of his lieutenant birds, said that there had been sightings in the Riddamark and Crebine from Dunland had attacked two of his officers.

This news confirmed what Branwen already knew from her messages from Bilbo; the Orcs were on the move.

"And a storm is announced by the arrival of a breeze," Thorin said quietly, running his finger over the edge of his goblet whilst watching absently dust particles dance in the firelight.

"You think there is something brewing?" Bard asked evenly, his voice was hoarse from age but still strong and powerful like it had been in his younger days.

Branwen watched from where she stood resting on the mantelpiece, at Bard's words the entire room grew tense and an eerie stillness fell. Thorin looked to her and nodded, he knew she had The King's Sight and trusted her instincts in such matters.

"I think something has changed and we haven't yet seen it. Something draws them, something cloaked in the shadows that has been left unchecked for too long," she heard herself say, staring blankly into the fire and thinking back to the dark aura that cut through her dreams at night.

Branwen turned and cast her eyes around the room, Bard watched her carefully, Chade looked out of his depth and Balin looked sceptical for he hadn't seen the encroaching darkness like she had and didn't understand the fear that he should be feeling.

"If we make plans we may show our hand too soon," Thrandruil commented nonchantly, his mind leaping forward while Bard's was still trying to catch up.

Branwen nodded silently, lost deep in thought she poured herself a glass of cider and absently ran her finger over the scar from her temple to her cheek. The cider was good and crisp, a present from Bilbo for sending Gloin to help with training his troops, it had come via a messenger from Rivendale as the cask was too heavy for any bird to carry.

A plan formed in less than a second, it was a stroke of pure genius. Her head snapped up and she met her Thrandruil's eyes.

"You might be right, unless we do something unexpected,"

"Are you proposing a brotherhood? For we do not make alliances with the likes of men," Thrandruil said drolly, swirling wine about in his goblet and looking down at the food on his plate as if it were rotten.

At the other side of the table Chade son of Bard stiffened his knife and fork hovering in midair. While Bard next to him rolled his eyes and brushed a greying locks of hair out of his eyes.

"Think of it not as an alliance but more as mutually assured destruction," Branwen paused and watched with amusement as Thrandruil cocked his eyebrow and Bard rested his head on his hand, waiting for her to continue speaking. "If retaliation comes from the Orcs and I don't doubt it will, who would you prefer on your side: two allies with mutually invested interests or the likes of Dain."

Thorin and Balin shot her warning looks as she bad mouthed their Kin but Branwen ignored them as Chade sat on the edge of his seat, Bard smiled and Thrandruil steepled his fingers.

And so the plans were drawn up.

Three relatively small forces provided by three peaceful communities to protect the same corner of Middle Earth. The Knights of Erebor, so named because it was Branwen's idea, were the most deadly fighting force that had ever been assembled. A permanent army with 300 hundred Elvin bowmen, 300 Dwarven axes and 300 Laketown swords: loyal to three cities or the three pointed jewel as depicted on their banner, ready to fight and ready to die at a moment's notice. Commanded by the three Founders, trained by three Weapons Masters and lead by three Generals, the Knights of Erebor were an impregnable shield against the enemy forces who wished to plague the lands.

They were the reason that the cities of Laketown, Mirkwood and Erebor flourished. With men enough to fight the onslaught of spiders, Mirkwood provided a direct route west which meant that Moria could call on them at any moment for aid.

***

November 28th - 2964

My Dearest Branwen,

I scarcely have to say that I can hardly contain myself with excitement. Though my duties as Chamberlin of the West have kept me most busy, I have longed more than anything to see the mountain again. The Shire is beautiful this time of year with the trees and hedgerows going into their winter sleep and bursting autumn gold but my heart longs for the chill in the air and hard stone under my feet once again.

How time flies.

I hope my blueprints for smials were helpful to Bofur, or should I say Grand Master Builder now! - He must be so proud. Smials are a rather tricky design and it takes an awful lot of skill to get them just right, but with the thirty being needed, tell him not to worry if they aren't perfect. As long as they are warm and cosy with a fireplace, we Hobbits won't complain.

Attached is a finalised list of families who will be migrating, most of them Brandybucks , Tooks, surprisingly a few Gamgees as well, all with little Hobbitlings of their own.

Our little experiment went extraordinarily well! Gloin had no idea who he was talking to when I introduced him to Kili and F Kantos and Fillgran. I said they were distant relatives of some Orocarni travellers that had settled long ago, he had no clue! I think it's safe to say that no one will recognise them when they return.

Now to business. I have written forward to Elrond, Balin and Thrandruil via Raven Post. The Caravan leaves on the 1st March and arrives at Rivendale on the 25th where we will stay for a week. Some of Balin's folk will meet us and take us safely to Moria, no doubt Balin will have us stay for some time. If all goes as planned, we will reach Mirkwood in mid April and arrive at Erebor on the October the 17th.

I thank you for the Ravens you sent; they will be most helpful in case of emergency.

Eagerly waiting to see you and Thorin at- what I must now call my new home.

Your loving Burglar x

Delivered by Ferric- Captain of RPN-{Raven Post Network}, Hobbit Migration Division

***

o The Line of Durin, King and heir to the throne, Thorin Oakenshield Son of Thrain and Branwen BowTraveller, daughter of The King under the Mountain, Princess of Erebor and Elf Friend.

My deepest hope is that you are well and in good spirits. You have my kindest regards and thanks for your recent concern according with the recent Orc migration. I am honoured that you would seek to aid us in defending our borders; you do my house a great honour.

But on other matters, I must inform you that I have called a meeting. A meeting that will alter the face of Middle Earth as we now know it. You may not know but Gandalf has become aware of a certain object, an object that I shall only refer to as "the weapon of the enemy". Princess Branwen you may not be aware of its evil and bloodied history but not doubt the honurable King Thorin will know the ancient tale of the Rings of power.

This artefact was found in the possession of someone who is familiar to you, a Hobbit who is dear to your house. I will say no more in case this message raven is apprehended but I fear it wise that the persons of the assembly I have called will journey with the Hobbit procession from Rivendale to Erebor.

It is the greatest importance that nothing befalls the Hobbit on his journey, so our presence will have two purposes; to protect the Ring Winner and decide its fate.

Burn this letter as soon as you have read it.

Yours sincerely,

Lord Elrond of Rivendale, Master of the Last Homely House

Delivered by WormWinner- Marshall of the RPN-{Raven Post Network} Hobbit Migration Division  
****

October 30th- Durin's day

Bilbo's caravans were running late. Ravens arrived two months prior saying that the passes in the Misty Mountains that led to Moria had been covered by an early snow fall. Balin's folk had worked tirelessly to free the pass but with many Hobbitlings and old folk, the days waiting in the knee deep snow had taken its toll on the health and moral of the caravan. As such they had left Balin's halls two weeks later than expected and had taken a longer route down into the Gladden fields.

But they still should have been there by now. Branwen had been up since dawn waiting impatiently, though she hadn't actually slept. The anxiety was too great, the Hobbits, the Council with Elrond, the Coronation and her 150th birthday: it was all too much for one day.

The agreement between Thorin and her had actually slipped her mind until Bofur had started presenting her with different sets of jewels and several designs, Ori was becoming frantic over her Khuzdul pronunciations and bundles of gems kept appearing at her door.

It was only when Bofur presented her with a finished sketch of a crown that it actually sunk in what was happening. It was her crown.

Her crown.

She had actually threw up at the idea. It was a symbol of her power and status, a weight that would never leave her shoulders. Panicking, she did what she did best and hid. Much to Dwalin's annoyance, Branwen dodged her bodyguard and hid where no one would look for her.

Smaug's Den.

With some minor rearranging, Smaug's treasure trove had become a more comfortable home for the Dragon. The mounds of treasure had been organised and pushed up against the far wall, Smuag rested in front of it and only let a select few retrieve any. His belly rested on a tin sheet which had been positioned over the Craftsman's level, keeping the great Dragon constantly warm. A fresh water spring had been added, bubbling in a deep bath lined with gems. Giant fans hung from the ceiling to provide him with a breeze if his wished. Branwen, herself had commissioned what was named as Smaug's Skydoors. Cut deep into the high section of the mountain that was unreachable from the outside were a set of giant doors enchanted so they only opened at Smaug's touch

Though Smuag had been impassive to these and had never used them, Branwen was quietly confident that the dragon appreciated the thought. It was the idea of although willing bound inside the mountain, she had given him the freedom if he chose it. This was why he put up with her sat with her feet in his pool.

"What is heavieeeer a crown or the ideaaa of a crown?" Smuag rumbled cryptically as he stretched and clicked his scales, stiff from a week long nap.

"Both are equal, but it is the strength of the shoulders that worries me," Branwen retorted glumly, splashing her foot angrily in the pool. The ground shook as Smuag stood and shook himself, then he lowered his head and lapped from the pool, his yellow eyes watching Branwen carefully.

"Then have neeeitheeer," Smuag growled, in between gulps of water.

"But Thorin needs me, he is my Father dammit and besides he is not yet fully..." Branwen began to protest, leaping to her feet.

"Then you have yourrr answeeer," Smaug's idea was so simple that it was almost absurd and yet so brilliant. Branwen would have laughed if she wasn't worried about offending Smuag.

"How is the Dracci league?" Branwen asked, picking up her boots and regarding Smuag fondly. The Dracci league was an elite set of dwarves who had been charged to care for Smaug's every need.

"They pesterrrr me about food but they clean wherrre I cannot," Smuag rumbled impassively, his long pointed tongue flicking out in the direction of a large plait sized scale that lay discarded on the floor. It was hard as diamond and bright scarlet with flecks of gold and emerald green, which flashed in the light as Branwen picked up the scale.

"Thank you Smuag, you have been most helpful," she said to the dragon, flashing the idea that had just formed into the forefront of her mind.

"You are weelllcoooome, child of my hooorrrde," Smuag growled as his snort curled into a dragon like smile and he blew a smoke ring after her as Branwen darted out the chamber, the scale clutched tightly under her arm.

***

 

So she had politely declined the gold and the gems that Bofur offered but did accept his design, a simple circlet of geometric shapes set into interlocking hexagons. With colour being extracted from Smaug's scale and a professional tattooist informed of her wishes, she would become the idea rather than the vessel for it.

And so Branwen had not slept a wink all night. Her ceremonial robes hung at the foot of her bed as if watching her sleep. She ended up sneaking up to the Rook and stargazing with Bifur until the stars were blocked out by the rosy hue that rose from the east. So, after washing quickly, Branwen pulled on her usual outfit of navy blue tunic and breeches, grabbed a cup of hot chocolate and went to wait for the Hobbit caravan by the front steps of Erebor.

It was almost nine o'clock in the morning by the time Branwen could see the dust rising from the caravan but nearly ten when they came before her. Thorin stood at her side as they both watched the long line of Elves, Hobbits and even a few Men draw up the steps to the Great Gates of Erebor. Branwen could make out a few familiar faces in the sea with dozens of strangers.

Bilbo rode at the head of the column, flanked by a smaller younger Hobbit on his left and Lord Elrond and King Thrandruil on his right. Behind them trailed two men who Branwen didn't recognise and behind them stretched a long line of excited Hobbits standing with their carts.

Bilbo looked well, a bit broader and fuller in the face but his tanned skin and greying strawberry blonde hair gave him a healthy glow. He wore a finely embroidered fern green cloak trimmed with red fox fur and a maroon waistcoat with golden buttons. But for all the wealth and finery, he was still the same old Hobbit, their Hobbit.

"My Friends!" Bilbo exclaimed, leaping off his pony and pulling Branwen and Thorin into a tight hug. Thorin shifted uncomfortably for a moment and patted Bilbo on the head with slight embarrassment.

"Did you have a safe journey?" Thorin asked stiffly, pulling free of Bilbo's hug and straightening his cloak as an earthy blush rose on his cheeks. Thorin rarely showed physical affection, even to Branwen.

"Oh Pssh, we can discuss that till the cows come home. But first let me introduce you to... three people who are very close to me," Bilbo clapped his hands together excitedly; he disappeared into the crowd before pulling three figures along with him. "This is my nephew Frodo Baggins," Bilbo said, pushing a young dark haired Hobbit towards them.

Frodo was dark haired and rather thin for a Hobbit, he bowed faltering and almost shook in terror when Thorin spoke to him. "I am please to finally meet you, Bilbo has told us a lot about you," Thorin smiled and inclined his head to Frodo, who squeaked and disappeared into the crowd.

"He's shy," Bilbo exclaimed, before presenting two very very familiar figure figures , "May I present Fillgran Goldenleaf of the Orocarni clan and esteemed goldsmith of the Shire, and Kantos SpiderBane also of the Orocarni and expert locksmith."

Thorin and Branwen had to bite the inside of their cheeks to keep their faces straight. Thorin shot her a look and arched his eyebrow before bowing and introducing himself to his own nephews.

Kili and Fili looked very pleased with themselves. Taller and broader than she remembered, they had grown into full dwarf maturity. Kili was the height of Dwalin now, though he still had leanness to his limbs, his arms was thick as tree trunks from working the forges. Fili was Thorin's height and built like a bull, all muscles and golden hair, his eyes slightly dimed in sadness as he looked at Thorin's damaged arm but none the less beaming in happiness.

Branwen of course, had to tell Thorin about Kili and Fili's survival and how they were living under Bilbo's trusted guidance and tutelage. She had however, forgotten to mention that they would be migrating back to the mountain. Branwen thought of it as a kind of revenge for making her have a coronation.

"Lady Grey, or should I say Princess Branwen?" Lord Elrond smirked after Branwen went to welcome him; Elrond kneeled before her and kissed her hand. Thrandruil and Legolas nodded curtly at her and brushed passed, striding straight into the mountain without saying a word, but Branwen ignored him.

"You may call me anything you like my Lord. But wait, what is this?" Branwen exclaimed in mock horror, she flashed a smile at Elrond and stepped towards the man standing behind him. Standing on her tiptoes, she caught the man's chin and titled it up sun.

"I see the boy I once knew in the man before me," Branwen smiled up at Estel. She guessed he was in his mid twenties now, powerfully built and strong but still he retained the warming smile. Standing at nearly six foot one, he towered above her and pulled her into a tight hug.

"I would have come but..." Branwen began mumbling into his side but she felt Estel chuckle.

"Time got the better of you. I understand, don't worry," Estel said warmly, releasing her and taking a step back as Thorin approached. By now Bofur had appeared with his army of helpers armed with clip boards, he led the Hobbits round the side of the mountain to where the smials had been built.

"It is good to see you again, even as a child you were and always will be a friend of this house," Thorin declared genially, slapping Estel affectionately on the arm, thinking back to the child who had helped to thaw Branwen's heart.

"I thank you my Lord for your welcome, I am most grateful. It is forward of me to mention but I also have some rather urgent business that I need to discuss with your majesties," Estel said formally, bowing his head to the ground.

Thorin and Branwen exchanged a look but before they could speak, Lord Elrond spoke, "The day has been long already and Princess Branwen still has much do. I think, the matter can wait till tomorrow Aragorn."

"Very well," Thorin and Branwen said at the same time and began ushering everyone into the mountain.

"I am flattered that you should value my skills so highly, even in such illustrious company as this but I..."Branwen protested apologetically to the Council, looking from Thorin to Gandalf for help.

"But you cannot come with us... I thought as much. Your home is here now, I understand," his tone was morose though he smiled. The large room was silent as Gandalf stared at her with understanding.

"You are afraid. I have heard of your exploits Branwen BowTraveller daughter of Thorin Oakenshield, but you disappoint me," Boromir said darkly, taking a draining his goblet dry and glaring from over the other side of the Council table.

All the room echoed with sharp intakes of breath and Thorin leapt to his feet, preparing to lunge at the man but before anyone Gandalf rounded on Boromir, slamming his staff down on the table in front of him.

"She was facing down an entire Orc army when you were still sucking at your Mother's teat, Boromir heir to the house of Steward, now be silent less I have to turn you into a toad," Gandalf barked as dark shrouds of magic made the world spin around him.

"Gandalf," Branwen said in a warning tone and the wizard settled with a small smirk hidden under his white beard. Branwen turned her gaze to Boromir and studied him for a moment. He had good intentions but there was too much anger and not enough wisdom behind his years.

"You miss understand me, my Lord Boromir. Erebor and the three points are a pinnacle of peace and stability, one which the Sauron's minions look to topple at any moment. With so many forces at work, there is some call for strength in numbers but more in stealth. And would my presence really amount to the increased danger that the Heir to the Line of Durin would bring? You said it yourself, my reputation precedes me, would not Sauron be expecting me to go with you?" Branwen paused as Boromir looked away, resting his chin on his knuckles.

"From what Gandalf has told us, Isengard has fallen to the dark powers. I do not doubt that by the end we will be leading an army against Saruman," Thorin said stiffly, fixing his chilling glare on Boromir . Branwen placed her hand on Thorin's arm and he drew calm.

"If this quest fails the world will be plunged into a darkness that will wipe out all we hold dear and I have fought too long and too hard to let that happen. Succeed in this and the torch of hope will blaze brighter than it has since the elder days into the palms of men and the strength of their bloodline," Branwen declared letting her eyes settle on Estel, she gave him a reassuring smile and he nodded back.

It was only half an hour later, after fighting had broken out between over the Ring of Power and Bilbo's nephew Frodo had pushed his way past Branwen and grabbed the Ring from the center podium, that Gandalf, Branwen and Bilbo sat on the outside balcony in the midday sunshine. Drinking Dwalin's Fire Breathing whiskey and blowing smoke rings off into the sky, whilst contemplating unhappily the dark events that the young Hobbit would have to overcome.

"I should have done something sooner, I knew the ring was bad and I sensed it was waiting, waiting for the right moment to strike but..." Branwen's voice drifted off with a frustrated growl and she took another sip of whiskey.

"I'm the wizard! Even from Goblin Town all those years ago I knew there lurked something in the darkness," Gandalf protested angrily. They were each taking it in turn to take responsibility for the sorry state of affairs they now found themselves in.

"It's neither your faults. I won the damn thing, if only I hadn't snuck off in Goblin Town and played riddles in the dark with that...that..." Bilbo snapped.

"Gollum," Gandalf supplied helpfully.

"Gollum, that evil little creature, "What have I got in my pocket?" what kind of a riddle is that!"Bilbo grumbled, shaking his head and gnawing on the end of his pipe.

"It was well done, if not for you Gollum could have been captured by the enemy with the ring and then where would we be, up a creak without a barrel, that's what," Branwen wheezed as the whiskey hit the back of her throat.

"But Frodo-" Bilbo began to protest.

"Frodo is you when you ran off with a load of dwarves and an urchin and look where that got you," Branwen said matter-of-factly, popping her pipe in the corner of her mouth and gesturing the newly built smials at the base of the mountain.

"Hmmm," was all Bilbo said.

"And besides he's got the Fellowship to care for the lad, Gimili and Legolas would never hear of either dwarf or elf letting down the fate of Middle Earth," Branwen tried to reassure Bilbo.

"And he is a Hobbit," Thorin said from behind them. The King was resting against the doorframe, his silver hair blowing gently in the breeze while his brilliant blue eyes met Branwen's.

"He is a Hobbit," Branwen nodded and smiled at her Father.

"He will always have a place here with or without you. I know Fili...Fillgran and Kantos would love that he stayed permanently," Thorin smiled warmly and rested a hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

Bilbo smiled slowly, he wrung his hands in his lap and swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. "I suppose after I'm gone you two will look after him, he has no family apart from me you see and..." Bilbo's words died in his throat as Gandalf, Thorin and Branwen all started to chuckle.

"Today is my 150th birthday, how much longer do you think I'm going to be around," Branwen said with mirth.

"My dear, you will outlive us all," Gandalf chuckled and winked at her.

"Well, at this moment in time I'd rather be facing a Balrog than face the Crowning ceremony right now," Branwen groaned, running a hand over her tired face.

"Stop it," Thorin said sternly, fixing her with a warning glare.

"I'm not doing anything," Branwen said defensively, very aware that Bilbo and Gandalf had fallen silent.

"You know what, stop over thinking things. Why stop digging when you're about to reach your gold?" Thorin said matter-of-factly, taking her goblet out of her hands and setting it on the table. Branwen snorted and mumbled something about mining metaphors. Thorin smiled a little as he took her chin and titled her head up, brushing a wisp of hair and smoothing it back into the braid. "Crown or no crown you are still my daughter, heir to the line of Durin and strongest Princess this mountain has ever seen. I am proud no matter what happens tonight."

Branwen looked over the sea of unfamiliar faces and blinking eyes. Behind her was the royal podium and the Lords of Erebor, mostly the remaining members of the Company apart from Kili and Fili. Dis stood next to Thorin's throne as her Father and her Aunt watched her stand in front of the entire mountain.

Her brow was excruciatingly painful from where the tattoo now sat. Scarlet and intricate, the tattooed crown would remain untarnished till the end of her days as crown Princess of Erebor.

Dressed in a royal blue gown and draped in a grey wolf skin, her robes felt unnaturally heavy. Unconsciously rubbing the scar on her temple, she stepped towards the audience, they waited with baited breath.

"People of Erebor, this day has been a long time coming, trust me, I would know. We have all suffered long and hard for this mountain, our home. Blood has been spilt and we have lost many; loved ones, family and friends." Her voice cut through the silence like a knife and she let the echo ring slightly. From within the crowd she found Kili and Fili smiling at her, she licked her lips and glanced back at Thorin who nodded encouragingly.

"But from the darkness there must always come light, always have an end of the tunnel, where there is winter so must there be spring. I do not know what myths and stories have been spread about me but know this, gold was never an attraction for me. A crown can be shattered and broken, but an idea can never die. People of the mountain, let it be known that if the darkness of winter should ever fall or a shadow cloak the mountains Great Gates, I swear by the Durin blood in my veins and the sacred duty that this crown symbolises, that I will burn my body and my strength for the people and for the protection of the mountain."

Cheers and applause engulfed her voice, people jumped and stamped their feet, causing a noise so deafening that it swallowed her words. She raised her hands until silence fell once again.

"The Great Dragon saw the strength and courage of Erebor's people, the fire in our blood that shall be the beacon of hope for all Middle Earth to look to in the darkness. We are home for the lost and forgotten, wanderers who forged fire and lighting to conquer mountains. And I, as your loyal servant shall strive to ensure we do so until the strength of our arm falters and we are welcomed as heroes into the halls of our forefathers!"

The Throne room erupted once again, applause and cries of joy growing into an almost deafening crescendo, even Thrandruil and Lord Elrond clapped along with the rest of the crowd. Branwen smiled in an effort not to look overwhelmed and waited for the noise to fall.

"This day marks the first day of the rest of our lives, a day when the mountain will prosper more than ever before. While we mine a bounty of precious stones from the earth, let our neighbours and new family, mine the bounty from the fields." Branwen glanced back and beamed at Thorin. "My Father once said that Hobbits are courage and wisdom blended in equal measure. Add a dwarfs stubbornness and loyalty, and I believe we will have a kingdom that may never be challenged. With all our friends, old and new, let us make these days the Golden age of Erebor."

Branwen hadn't believed it possible but the noise grew even more louder, she had to strain not to cover her ears at the sound of riotous applause.

"Now, let us show these Hobbits how real Dwarves celebrate Durin's day!"

Thorin and Branwen were sat quietly in the Durin's private library, enjoying a mug of warm cider and each others company just as a light knock came from the door.

"Estel, or should I say Aragon heir of Numenor?" Branwen asked lightly as Estel closed the door behind him and walked into the center of the room inclining his head to Thorin as he did so.

"I shall always be Estel to you my old friend," Estel smiled and reaching behind him, he pushed a small Dwarrow in front of him. Branwen was surprised to see the child, she hadn't noticed him enter, silently he sat on the rug at their feet and watched the fire crackle in the hearth.

Branwen shot Thorin a look and then turned to Estel questioningly.

"One of my fellow Rangers found him wondering near Harad, he says his name is Himinmagni and he is of the blood of Durin," Estel said levelly as way of explanation while Thorin and Branwen gaped at him. "Apart from his name and his lineage, he has not spoken a word."

The child was undoubtedly Dwarven, thick curls of shiny black hair sat on his strong shoulders and curled just in front of his stormy eyes. His face had a honey like complexion and his nose and cheeks bones were strong like Thorin's. Suddenly his head snapped suddenly in Branwen's direction and studied her with disconcerting intelligence.

Glancing at Thorin, who was still gaped, she eased herself down onto the carpet and sat next to the boy. Branwen tried to take the boy's chin and turn his head to the light but he pulled back and slapped her hand away, glaring at her with a disconcertingly familiar gaze.

"Himinmagni, that is a strong name," she acknowledged to the Dwarrow shooting him a sideways glance.

"It means heavenly might," Himinmagni piped up suddenly. Estel made a noise of surprised and Thorin nodded encouragingly at her. Branwen had less than no experience with children, Estel had been a very intelligent child but she could sense this Dwarrow was something more.

"And who told you that?" Branwen asked already half knowing the answer. Himinmagni glanced nervously at his hands and licked his lips.

"He was a giant I think but no, he was more than that..." Himinmagni struggled to find the right words. Thorin and Branwen exchanged a quick look of understanding, Thorin knew about Branwen's experience with Aüle and understood the impact the boy's words made.

"Was he a man like Estel or a dwarf like Gimili?" Thorin asked helpfully as he too sat on the floor by the boy's side.

"No! And he wasn't an elf either. He was more. Taller than a horse, taller than Gandalf. His eyes were..." Himinmagni snapped hotly then let his voice trail off and his looked wistfully into the fire.

"Like what, tell me exactly?" Branwen urged.

"Well, they were like stars that had been shattered into tiny pieces and scattered into a river at night or-"

"Or like sparks flying into the night's sky from the fire of a forge," Branwen finished for the Dwarrow, nodded with understanding as she did so.

"Yes!" Himinmagni exclaimed excitedly.

"And he said you were the blood of Durin?" Thorin asked gently, not wanting to push the boy back into his silence.

"He said I was made from the sweat of your brow and the strength of your back, I am made from the hammer and the anvil and I am Durin, born as you were from fire and blood and battle. And I am to seek out my people," Himinmagni stated as if memorised.

Again Thorin and Branwen exchanged looks as understanding dawned on them. Pulling Himinmagni and herself standing, the boy allowed her to run her fingers through his soft hair and cup his cheek.

"Well then, welcome to Erebor Himinmagni and welcome to the family."  
****

"You have chooooseeen," Smuag rumbled as she entered his chamber later that evening.

"What better opportunity, the mountain is safe and we have been given a sign from Aüle," Branwen said trying to make the Dragon understand.

"You have many yeaaars left to liiivve," Smuag flicked his tongue impatiently.

"And we will live them-" Branwen began but Smaug's dangerous growl cut her off.

"PAHHHH!"

"What do you think of him?" Branwen said after Smaug's growling had subsided and she felt tentative prodding in her mind.

"I have seeeeen blank slates with more substannnnccce," Smuag huffed and lashed out his tail. Branwen actually chuckled at the irony of his words.

"A lump of coal is only black until its alight, then all we must do is watch it dance with flame," Branwen retorted quickly, waving frantically at the cloud of smoke that engulfed her, then leaped out of the way as Smuag slammed his boat sized paw down.

"An insignificant spec in the darknnnesssss," he seethed through his long sharp fangs.

"Then you shall teach he to burn like dragon fire, as you taught me," Branwen rested her hands on her hip and smiled up at the luminous yellow eye that watched her carefully.

"I am no nanny goaaaaat," Smuag growled darkly, closing his eyes.

"No, you are the founder of one of the greatest kingdoms of Middle Earth. You will make him great," Branwen reached forward and placed her hand on Smaug's rough snort, his breath nearly blew her backwards but she didn't move. Instead Smuag opened his eyes and watched her.

"Youuu will wait till he is offff maturity," Smuag said slowly, as if now resigned to her plan.

"That is the plan but I cannot promise that is how it will play out," Branwen shrugged, letting her hand drop from Smaug's scaly skin and slowly made her way out of his chamber.

"You shall be a great loss to my hoorrrdde, but rest assured I will coaaaax the spark into a flaaaame," Smuag rumbled, his head raised just a little so he could watch her leave.

"Thank you my old friend,"  
***  
There and back again...A She-dwarf's story

After a few days rest and recovery and many arguments between a certain group of young Hobbits, the Fellowship of the Ring left Erebor and set off towards Mirkwood or the Greenwood as it was becoming once again.

Sightings of Orcs had increased to the east so the Fellowship were going to journey down the western tip of the Greenwood and through the gap of Rohan.

They were truly an elite group of warriors in their own little way but Branwen still feared for them. And she was not the only one, Bilbo had given Frodo Sting, Fillgran had given him his Mithril shirt and Kantos to Sam WiseGamgee. Thorin had ordered a set of Ravens to follow after them so that they always knew the Fellowship's location and told them to send for help if they were in any danger.

When news arrived that Isengard was on the move, fear had seized them as the black tower now blocked the Fellowship's path. All seemed to fall into disarray for a few months. News arrived that an attack of Lothloiren had been unsuccessful, still Thrandruil sent some of his own troops to strengthen the Lady of the Wood.

Taking advantage of this, Isengard took a steep turn round the base of the Greenwood and tried to advance on Laketown. The Knights of Erebor and extra troops brought by Thorin and Branwen held fast, the fighting was bloody and brutal but they won after almost twelve hours straight fighting.

After almost eight months with not a word from any of the Fellowship, a raven arrived half dead and with a message from Estel in Rohan.

It read – "We ride to Minas Tirith. That is where the fate of Middle Earth shall be decided. Send all you can."

But when the three founders rallied all the Knights of Erebor and the household armies, they found their path blocked by a wall of green flame. Tribes from the south and Orcs from Mordor were burning the Greenwood to ash, the wall of smoke rose almost ten thousand feet high.

The elves cried in anguish as their ancestral home burned, for half a second Branwen thought about how Thrandruil had left their people to suffer but put it out of her head as she ordered every available hand to grab axes and cut down a long line of trees, blocking the advancing flames and saving most of the forest.

But the loss was greatly felt and the elves mourned, singing a lament to the oaks and elms that had perished in the flames until a Captain of the Raven Post landed and told them that Fangorn was on the move. The trees had spoken to him and they said they would relish the taste of the Greenwood's fresh soil.

And so Thrandruil ordered the bodies of Orcs removed and together along with the Knights of Erebor and the people of Laketown, Branwen and Thorin helped Thrandruil rebuild his home.

After this was a momentous day as it was also the day when news of the Battle of the Black Gate arrived, the war of the ring was over and they had won but as Branwen had once said "the war might be won but the battle was far from over."

Balin Lord of Moria and the Great Market sent out troops to aid the poor people of the Shire, who had suffered in silence at the hands of goblins and mercenaries. With guilt, Branwen and Thorin realised they had been unaware of their plight, so sent a hundred of their best craftsman and a wagon of silver to help with the Hobbits suffering.

It was almost a year and a half before Frodo returned and it was plain to see by any who knew him that he was a changed Hobbit but he struggled through the years with ageing Bilbo at his side and the title of Chamberlin of the West bestowed upon him.

It was on Himinmagni's 40th birthday that they finally said their goodbyes.

"Just make sure the Company gets these, and tell them...tell them," Branwen struggled to breathe as a thick painful lump pushed up her throat. Himinmagni was now fully grown with a thick black beard bound with silver clasps, he nodded understandingly at Branwen and pulled her into a tight hug.

"They will know. Don't worry, they will be loyal to you to the very last," Himinmagni said calmly, rubbing his cheek against hers.

She pulled away slightly and smoothed his beard down with her thumb while he brushed a strand of grey hair from her eyes. He was the son she had never had, made from her blood and her body, she loved him and he loved her. Leaving him alone was the most utterly painful experience in her life and yet she knew it was what she must do.

With a final embrace, Branwen made herself walk away and join the small company of dwarves, Hobbits and a wizard. Mounting her horse next to Thorin, she watched Himinmagni wave before calling, "Tell Dwalin to start being careful, I won't be able to keep an eye on him anymore!"

And so they rode, taking their time to soak in the scenery they wouldn't see anymore and talking of their old adventures until sometime in high summer they reached their final destination.

The Grey Havens.

Branwen dismounted and stood silently gazing at the sea that seemed to dance with light under the high sun. Next to her, Thorin turned to the small huddle of Hobbits and pushed an envelope into Sam's hands.

Sam WiseGamgee Chamberlin of the West had rather a nice ring to it.

Leaving Bilbo and Frodo to say their goodbyes, together Thorin and Branwen walked towards the gangplank and bowed to the high elves. Thrandruil actually smiled in welcome and beckoned them with open arms, it was strange how one simple act of kindness in saving his homeland had changed him and yet not so strange at all, Branwen mused as she bowed in turn to Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel.

Sunlight streamed through the amber clouds and a cool breeze blew from the water and gently tugged at her greying braids. Standing at the prow of the ship, wind whipping about them as they moved through the water, Thorin came and stood by her side and rested his rough hand over hers.

"He will do us proud," Thorin said softly, not needed to mention who. Aüle's words swam round her head as she thought of Himinmagni all alone now.

Do not fear; your time will end with the coming of the next generation. Branwen knew Aüle had spoken the truth but still the heart break for her was real. But despite this she smiled, knowing that Himinmagni was surrounded but his family now, who would guide him in becoming the King he was born to be.

His family was around him and hers were around her. Branwen smiled slowly and looked off into the horizon as a warm hand rested on her shoulder, the coarse fingers squeezed gently, and anxiety seemed to drain out of her. Beside Branwen stood a She-dwarf, dark hair blowing in the salty breeze about her face and her luminous green eyes crinkled as she smiled up at Branwen.

Lifthrasir murmured Branwen's name but it was blown away by the gentle breeze but it didn't matter, just her being there was enough for Branwen in that moment.

Thorin wrapped his arm round both their shoulders and held them close, kissing Lif on the lips and Branwen on the forehead as together, the family sailed away, to be together always in the Undying Lands.

The Company

Gloin- After doing such a good job of protecting the camp after the Battle of the Five armies and developing a training programme that ensured the cooperation of dwarves, men and elves, Thorin named him High Captain of the House Guard and gave him a Lordship. He had such a wealth of knowledge about tactics and weapons training, he was sent to train the Hobbits ready for the migration. As reward for the months he had to spend from Gimili, Branwen and Thorin named him the first Weapons Master of the Knights of Erebor. After many years Gloin retired but still was a key advisor for the Himinmagni.

Oin- Oin was named Grand Master Healer and given honours by all the elves, men and dwarves that he healed during the aftermath of the Battle of the Five armies. He declined the post of being Head of the Healing house and took to teaching. Soon, Healer apprentices were coming from the four corners of Middle Earth to be taught under him and paying vast amounts of money for his services. His books are still used in Erebor's library to this day.

Bifur- Bifur grew more and more reclusive as the years passed. He politely declined the title of Head of the Huntsman's league and took the post as Priest of Muninn. Rook Hall was rebuilt as it had been in Branwen's mothers day and Bifur cared for the Raven's who were not involved in the Raven Post Network. Along with the flock, Bifur wrote many books on the art of stargazing and cloud formations, even going so far as to build some of his own inventions. After many failed attempts, the "Sky Boat," could be seen now and again bobbing in and out of the clouds, with clear blue writing painted on its side- "The Bow Cloud"

Bofur – Although Bofur was never a domineering short of dwarf, he knew his craft well and soon had the dwarves from the Iron Hills organised and working with the elves effectively. In total it took nearly five years to get all the domestic quarters of Erebor back to their former glory and a further three years working on the rest of the halls. The damage done to the mountain hadn't been as bad a previously thought, mostly being damage done by leaks from the hot water spring, mould and damp.

After this was done, Bofur and Branwen took it upon themselves to help improve the mountain. With almost unlimited wealth at their disposal, Thorin allowed Bofur to develop a special type of luminous rock so that the inner most tunnels could be lit without the need of torches thus decreasing the risk of fire. After this he turned his attentions to Smaug's lair and set upon drawing up plans for Smaug's Skydoors, his comrades from the Iron Hills thought his idea was mad, however three years after planning began, he was named Master Builder of the Craftsman's League and given a Lordship for his services to the mountain.

He took his role very seriously and was one of Branwen's most avid supporters. Leading the building project for the first Hobbit smials, he strived for perfection even when hard earth made it difficult to get the curvature of the roofing and stone was frigid. He worked himself so hard that only days after the Hobbits arrived, Bofur collapsed from exhaustion. Waking up in the Healers ward, he found himself staring up at a Hobbit lass with sparkling brown eyes, who had just been accepted as an apprentice Healer and had been watching Bofur sleep for some hours.

They were married in the spring and have 3 boys and 2 girls, the very first Dwobbits: they are the hairiest and happiest children in Erebor and in Ever Green Shire.

Bombur- Bombur became infamous with men, elves and dwarves from all corners of Middle Earth for his delicious cooking, he was prized over all other chiefs and was offered vast amounts of money to cook for the highest royalty. But that was not what he wanted. He was a simple dwarf, who valued two things in life; good food and good family.

His wife and two sons arrived with Dis Durinson and Gloin's wife Lyngvi and son Gimili, on the first caravan from Ered Luin. He had been overjoyed when he had heard that they'd arrived, so much so that he'd raced up the grand staircase and caused himself a heart attack. It was only minor but it served as a reminder that he needed to change his ways in order to be with his family. Dwalin and Bombur's cousins took it upon themselves to help him as much as they could.

He lives with his wife, children and runs the Hammer and Spoon tavern, the only tavern in Middle Earth where the food is prized more than gold and where you can frequently see the Durin royalty sitting and enjoying a fine meal with a fine old friend.

Nori- Although the Company's fourteenth share was a vast amount of money, Branwen convinced them all to reinvest it into the rebuilding of the mountain with a guaranteed 0.05% cut of all tax that was taken from imports. This 0.05% was still enough to ensure a life of leisure for the Company but also that Nori no longer had to steal and extort. However, he never really lost his touch for it. A few years after Erebor was resettled, Branwen became burdened with dozens of suitors every hour of every day. After being secretly named Master of Whispers, Nori spread the rumour that all of Branwen's past lovers had a bad habit of dying young and in some parts of Middle Earth her name was Black Widow.

Needless to say, Nori was an indispensable ally to have on your side. Though in his later years he moved from espionage to a gentler career, taking a leaf out of Oin's book, Nori started training his own spy network in the form of the orphanages left by the Orc raid on Laketown. Even though he had no children of his own, his legacy lived on through his spy network and he was always remembered as the Master of Whispers and the Emperor of Ears.

Dori- Dori was a good chap. Although he and Branwen had got off on a bit of a rocky start, he became a key player in making Erebor great again. After showing natural talent with Roäc's clan of ravens and brilliant grasp of logistics, Thorin and Branwen decided to give him the office of Master General of the Raven Post Network.

After Roäc's heir Carc, had made contact with vast numbers of raven clans, the Raven Post Network had formed. Using a series of beacons and roosts, a Priest or Priestess of Muninn would care for each clan and in return the ravens would fly messages across Middle Earth.

In later years, Dori branched out and bred the first of Erebor's Dark Hunting Hounds. Stocky, strong dogs, blind in the sun but born with night vision that would rival a moles; there coats were black as coal apart from coloured tufts on the tips of their tall pointed ears. The dogs were designed for hunting vermin in the mountain and soon they became a symbol of what Erebor was: fearless, determined and loyal.

Balin – By the time Erebor was fully settled, Balin was becoming restless. He was of an age in a dwarf's life when he needed something to be his legacy after he was gone. Balin had never really been interested in marriage or Dwarrows, preferring more the company of merchants and business associates. It was after Thorin had offered him the post of Master of Commerce that his mind began to wonder back to the Battle of Moria and Khuzhad-dum.

Moria needed a lot of work doing to it but with the money from the Great Market and the road to Safe Haven, Balin found that he had more than enough to pay for all the work. The Great Market flourished and became so popular that the Balrog who inhabited the lower levels was driven out by the sound of pounding feet.

He missed his brother dearly but found a new companionship with the first Chamberlin of the West Bilbo Baggins and then the third Sam WiseGamgee. It was in the Great Market that a new friendship was formed between east and west, and ultimately Hobbits and Dwarves.

Dwalin- Dwalin took it upon himself to for the new Royal Guard. Thorin and Branwen didn't even need to ask him for his services because they knew he was just doing his job as Branwen's Godfather. He commanded a group of twenty five elite dwarves, ruling them with an iron fist and making sure Branwen had at least five following her at all times: which Branwen took it upon herself to try and lose at every opportunity.

It was however when the first caravans started to arrive, that Branwen noticed a change in the dwarf. Aunt Dis was apparently an old friend of Dwalin's and they spent much of their time talking about the old days. Then one day out of the blue, Dwalin resigned his post as First General of the Royal Guard.

Much to the astonishment to Kantos and Fillgran, Dis and Dwalin married during the Summer festival, it seemed that Dis had somehow managed to tame the warrior into the dwarf she had loved since her before she had met her first husband. Dwalin alternated his time between being an advisor for Himinmagni and perfecting his special "Fire Breathing Whiskey" which was quickly becoming a huge export for Erebor.

Though, it must be said, that any Dwarf, Elf or Hobbit who showed any indication or even came close to thinking about try to make advances on Princess Branwen, would find themselves strapped to a barrel and floating down the river Running, quicker than he could say "just friends."

Ori- With a great lack of knowledge about the ancient Dwarven language of Khuzdul, Ori took it upon himself to try and replace all the books that had crumbled of the years. Before the War of the Ring, he spent much of his time travelling to cities of Men and buying up every book he could get his hands on. In later years, when he was not teaching Branwen the art of letters, he was teaching others the vast wealth of knowledge that Khuzdul had to offer. It was his belief that the language should be shared and not horded, that is why he declined Balin's offer to go to Moria and instead, concentrated spreading Khuzdul.

He was a good and close friend to Himinmagni Ward of Branwen Bow Traveller, who as his first act of becoming King named Ori Lord of Wisdom and Protector of letters.

Kili and Fili- Or should it be Kantos and Fillgran? After lining the outside of their Mithril shirts with packets of rats blood, the brothers had made up their minds that getting out from under Thorin's shadow would be good for them. Though they were bruised and battered from being repeatable stabbed, they had crawled away from the battle ground unseen and stole a raft that had been unattended by the people of Laketown. Although they skirted Mirkwood, Kili and Fili retraced their steps back to BagEnd and unlocked Bilbo's door with a spell that Gandalf had left out for them. The wizard hadn't been privy to their plan but then, wizards had a way of knowing things. After sending a letter via a Ranger to Branwen, who replied that Thorin had survived and was slowly recovering, along with a sum of money to help them on their way.

At first they were at a loss of what to do but after a chance meeting with Old Gaffer, who happened to complain he was out of nails, Fili saw his vocation. Painting their new alias' on a big wooden sign in Bilbo's garden their new business spread- "Kantos and Fillgran's Forge, by Royal appointment."

It was a rocky few weeks after Bilbo returned but soon they were doing so well for themselves, that they could support Bilbo and send a considerable amount of money to the Blue Mountains for their Mother.

When Gloin arrived the brothers had been terrified, Kantos was actually sick with nerves but Bilbo, or "Mamma Bilbo" as they'd taken to call him, told them to pull themselves together and it worked, Gloin introduced himself like a stranger and was actually wary of them. Arriving back at Erebor had been strange and painful at first to see Thorin still carrying an injury and treating them with cold indifference but as soon as they were alone, Thorin embraced them as if they were Dwarrows again. He told them off for not trusting him with their secret and warned them that if they ran off again, Dori would set the Erebor Hunting Hounds after them.

It had been a joint decision to join the Knights of Erebor whilst Dwalin and Dis enjoyed their first years of marriage. Fillgran advanced quickly, he was Dwarf third commander and by the War of the Ring, he led to charge to Laketown. Kantos had never really enjoyed violence like his brother had but did enjoy practising his archery with the bowmen sent by the elves. However, after losing an eye to an Orc during the Great Burning of Greenwood, both Brothers retired and took their rightful places as Himinmagni's guardians and advised him just as Branwen would have. They were true friends to the young King, just as Aüle had told Branwen they would be.

Yeah, now this really is the end.


End file.
